


Triangulation

by iguessso12



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Crime!AU, Gen, Mystery, OCs because otherwise it's difficult to populate a fictional police force, Occasional angst, Supernatural - Freeform, inspired by starfleetrambo on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 58,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessso12/pseuds/iguessso12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mabel became an only child thirteen years ago when Dipper disappeared without a trace into the Gravity Falls forest. At one time, she thought that her career as a detective would help her solve the mystery of what happened, but she's since then given up hope. When she's assigned a big case in Oregon, she's surprised by how much the clues she's stumbling across have in common with an unsolved, missing-persons mystery from over a decade ago. Mabel must unravel the truth from the lies or she'll lose the biggest lead she's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Don’t Know Where To Start, Try The Beginning

###### Triangulation: a method of finding a distance or location by measuring the distance between two points whose exact location is known and then measuring the angles between each point and a third unknown point.

The pistol jumped in her hand as she squeezed the trigger. Through the earmuffs she was wearing, the resulting bang was just a whisper. Her relaxed stance expertly absorbed the recoil. Every movement was fluid and practiced, and she knew without looking that she had hit the mark. A satisfied smirk tugged at her lips.  


Her victory, however, was short-lived, as someone tapped her on the shoulder.  


Pulling her earmuffs off as she turned, a tall, dusty blonde haired man commented with some chagrin, “You’re the Sharp Shooting Star of the Sacramento Police department…”  


She grimaced, interrupting, “Please don’t call me that.”  


“You hold the highest accuracy percentage,” he amended, “and yet you’re still here for a few hours a day. Don’t you want to give somebody else a chance?”  


“Nobody has a chance of being as good as me.” She answered cheerfully, pressing the button that brought the target closer for inspection as she flicked on the safety and holstered her gun. The silhouette of paper revealed seven clean shots through vital points. A perfect score.  


The man offered her a crooked smile, “To best you, it would certainly require an unholy amount of practice.”  


“So,” She talked as she walked, pulling off her practice gear to stuff in a locker, “What brings you down to the firing range?”  


“You.”  


“Oh?”  


“Apparently, being your partner also makes me your keeper. Commander Towar sent me down here to get you.”  


“New assignment?”  


“He didn’t say.”  


“Still stonewalling you with the newbie thing?”  


The man shook his head, “It didn’t seem like it this time. He asked for you specifically, not both of us.”  


“Now why would I be sent somewhere without my shadow?”  


“Why don’t we just go and find out, instead of standing around postulating.”  


She hit the ‘up’ button for the elevator and said to the man with a face-splitting smile, 

“We’re detectives, Ray. Standing around postulating is what we do.”  


The man – Ray – shrugged, getting in the elevator and requesting the third floor.  


Without delay, the pair arrived and weaved their way around a mess of desks and bustling people to the commander’s office. She noticed that the shades had been pulled shut: never a good sign. With a hint of unease that she was thoroughly accustomed to as someone who regularly dealt with crime, she pushed her way inside without knocking.  


“You wanted to see me, commander.”  


“Yes.” The toughened, sturdy form of her superior answered. Only he wasn’t sitting in his high-backed desk chair; rather, he was standing by the shuttered office window. The commander’s infamous chair was currently occupied by another, albeit familiar, man.  


“Chief Englert,” she acknowledged, keeping the color of surprise out of her tone, “What is this all about?”  


“You’re new assignment.” The wizened old man’s scratchy voice replied.  


She raised an eyebrow, “Do explain. It might clarify as to why both of you are present.”  


The two men glanced at each other before Commander Towar continued, “You’ve been requested to investigate a case.”  


“Very atypical.” She said sarcastically.  


“In Oregon.” Towar added.  


Both of her eyebrows went up.  


“This is not something we regularly do,” Chief Englert explained, “But, Anne Rudick, the 

Chief of Police in Salem, Oregon asked for you specifically. There’s been a series of homicides that need a full time detective to review the cases.”  


“And they don’t have someone with more experience, both with the city and in general?”  


“Rudick insisted.” Englert said sounding slightly befuddled himself, “She asked me to send you up there and that their department would cover the cost of your transportation, housing, as well as compensation for your work. It should be about the same as if you were working a case here.”  


“What about me?” Ray finally spoke up.  


“Sergant Raymond Clark.” Englert finally acknowledged the man, “What is your concern.”  


Grudgingly, Ray explained, “I’m her partner, and my detective orientation isn’t over for another two months.”  


“So?”  


“Where she goes, I go.” Ray sounded firm.  


“That’s fine,” Towar interjected, “You may receive regular compensation from the SPD as long as you’re working with her.”  


“I will be.”  


Chief Englert returned his attention to her, “What do you say, Detective Pines?”  


Mabel grinned at the Sacramento Chief of Police, “This case sounds weird from the get-go. I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you on Tumblr, this story is heavily inspired by starfleetrambo's GF Crime AU (also known as The Triangle Murders). Check out their stuff if you haven't already seen it, it's amazing!!!


	2. Don’t Let The Nostalgia Pull You Under, You’ll Drown In It

Mabel scrolled through her iPhone to find another playlist of oldies-but-goodies. For the duration of the car ride, Ray hadn’t seemed to mind her acting as DJ as long as the stereo setting was below twenty. Why so specific? Because she had tried setting it higher, only to find that he would use the controls on the steering wheel to turn it back down. Twenty was the max.  


Sighing, she leaned back her seat and folded her arms behind her head, whining, “Why are we driving again when the Salem Police Department offered to pay for out travel expenses? Nine hours is a long time to sit still. We could have flown in less than half that.”  


“Because airports are a hassle.” Ray answered, somewhat tetchily.  


Smirking, Mabel rebutted, “No, it’s because someone is afraid of heights.”  


Ray swallowed, “Fabulous deduction, detective.”  


“You know, I once cured my great uncle of his fear of heights.”  


“Oh yeah?”  


“Yeah. Gave myself a little bit of a scare in the process, but I eventually got over it.”  


He nodded.  


“I’m sure you could get over it too.” She said cheerfully.  


His grip tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”  


They drove on in silence for a few minutes, Ray expertly weaving around people on the freeway. The scenery flashed by. Mabel turned up the radio. Ray turned it down.  


“You want to know something weird about deduction.” Mabel sat up and looked at her partner.  


“What?” he asked, flicking on the left blinker.  


“In my experience it tells you something – a fact about someone – but you never have the whole story, just enough to piece an answer together. Never the why? Or the how did they get like that?”  


“It’s dumb.” Ray mumbled.  


“Deduction? You’re a detective, you can’t say that. I only said that it’s weird.”  


“No, I mean my fear of heights.”  


“Oh.”  


“Yeah. It was right after Miranda and I first got married. We took a weekend trip to the Grand Canyon. Hiked around and stuff. Long story short, she almost slipped at one point. If I hadn’t managed to grab her hand and haul her back onto the path, she would’ve fallen all the way to the bottom. I have these vivid images in my mind of what she might’ve looked like had that happened. It didn’t help that a week later she found out she was pregnant with Nina.”  


“That’s not dumb.” Mabel chastised, sitting back, “It’s perfectly reasonable to worry about people you care about.”  


“Yeah.” Ray mumbled.  


To snap him out of his funk, Mabel pointed to an exit, “Snacks this stop!”  


Ray maneuvered onto the ramp and pulled into a gas station. It was filled with lumber trucks, the smell of pine reaching Mabel’s nose as she stepped out of the car. She was thankful that she’d taken the first driving shift. With only a few hours left to their destination, her mind had grown preoccupied with other thoughts.  


Why homicides?  


She breezed past the shelves of crappy collectibles – big foot snow globes, mugs with the most common names, and embarrassing bumper stickers – the sight of them causing something in her chest to ache. Locating the bathroom at the back of the store took her mind off the matter.  


Why her?  


Two packs of gummy bears and a chilled coffee for Ray would be enough to satiate them for the rest of the trip. Paying and exiting without another glance back, she strode out to the waiting car.  


And why Oregon?  


The blur of trees started up again and she could no longer distract herself from the nostalgia that washed over her. It had been thirteen years now. Her life was different. And nothing would ever be the same. But maybe, for another few hours, she could pretend that she was on a bus with her brother. Just the two of them on their way to stay the summer with their great uncle.  


Ray smiled a little as his partner’s head lolled to the side, dragged down by sweet dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a disclaimer, I know virtually nothing about police investigations (I don't even watch cop shows). Also, I don't know much about Salem, Oregon. So if the details are off, I'm sorry.


	3. This Isn’t A Competition, But If It Were, I’m Winning

“I can’t believe we didn’t even come into the station last night.” Mabel muttered to her partner over a bottle of juice. She had never been a coffee drinker.

Ray took a sip of his steaming cup of joe, and explained for the fifth time, “It was late. We weren’t actually going to get any investigating done, so I didn’t see the point.”

“Crime never rests.”

“You sound more jaded than a twenty-six year old woman should.”

“Shhh,” she hissed, “Don’t advertise my age like that. We’re in public.”

“Astute observation, detective.” A clear, feminine voice called from behind them.

Slowly, the pair turned together.

“Chief Rudick, I presume.” Ray said.

The dark haired woman inspected him with steely, grey eyes, “And you are?”

“Chief,” Mabel’s professional tone was in place, “This is Assistant Detective Raymond Clark and I am Detective Mabel Pines. Pleasure to meet you.” Mabel extended her hand to the woman.

Chief Rudick didn’t shake it, “I believe I only asked for one detective from Sacramento.”

“He’s orienting. Our department covers his work with me.”

“I see.” The police chief’s eyes flashed, “Well, come into my office. I will personally give you the run-down on the situation.”

“Yes, sir.” Mabel and Ray uttered in unison.

“Lieutenant Dale!” Rudick barked over the office cubicles as they made their way to her office, “Grab Werner, Gillig, and Archer for me.”

“Yes, sir.” A man answered, though Mabel couldn’t locate him among the riff-raff.

Shut in the oasis of solitude within the busy station, Chief Rudick began to explain, “As you know, we’ve had a series of homicides in the area. All have occurred within the past year. While the murders themselves were not overtly similar, the initial investigation for all of them were inconclusive.”

“May I interject a quick question, sir.” Mabel queried, and Ray could tell she was putting her best foot forward with her faultless civility.

“Go ahead.”

“Why was I requested to investigate?”

There was a stretch of silence, but the chief’s face was unreadable, “Suffice to say, it suits the needs of our department.”

Mabel nodded, though it was obvious the answer was not as illuminating as she had hoped it would be.

“Anyway.” Rudick continued, “You have all the time you need. Although, in practice, we know that the sooner we catch the killer or killers the better.” The door opened and Rudick introduced the newcomers in turn, “Detective Chris Werner was the one to gather the initial evidence. You will have access to his files and if you need any further information, just ask him. Officers Ben Gillig and Madison Archer will be working with you on the case as well as Officer Tyrone Golar, who is off duty today. They are under your direction and will assist you as needed.”

Mabel memorized the names and faces, noting an identifying feature of each individual: Chris’s thin black hair, Ben’s prominent nose, and Madison’s industrial bar ear piercing.

With a clap of her hands, Chief Rudick sent them off, “Best of luck, Detective Pines.”

The door shut behind them with a clack, barely audible over the din of the busy station.

“Well, I guess the first stop is your office, detective.” Mabel suggested to Chris.

He gave her unintelligible look before leading the way, pausing at a small desk only long enough to grab a file box before he simply stated, “Follow me.”

Again, the group wound their way through the mess of the station, drawing more and more stares with every pass. Chris led them to a small, isolated conference room, ordered the officers to wait outside, before admitting Mabel and Ray. Quickly and concisely, Chris organized the information on the table.

“This is what we have from the initial investigations,” he informed them succinctly, “After the first few incidents we were able to tell that the common denominators included the time of day, night; the locations, private; the lack of witnesses; and no signs of forced entry. The confounding factor is the method. The mode of murders in these files are not similar as I believe Chief Rudick mentioned.”

The detective went quiet as Mabel and Ray sifted through the data.

“They’re all men.” She said after a minute.

“Yes.” Chis admitted.

“You have a pinned map, I assume.”

Ray slid the information her way. She glanced at the crosshatch of city streets, noting the spread of red indicators that coldly marked the scene of each individual’s death.

“Economic status?” she asked.

“It’s in the files already.”

“So there was a full background check on the victims, but nothing else.”

“Frederick wanted to leave that to you.” Chris’s tone was slightly disdainful.

“Who?”

“The Deputy Chief.”

“Why?”

Shrugging, the detective backed out of the conference room, “Another mystery to solve.” With a callous smirk, Chris sneered, “Good luck, hot shot.”


	4. Painting With Red Is Not An Art Style When It’s Iron

“I don’t have a good feeling about that guy.” Ray grumbled after the door shut behind the detective.

Mabel nodded in agreement, but didn’t bother to expend the energy that an answer would require as she continued sifting through the information. Seven unsolved cases. Similar circumstances, so it seemed plausible to conclude that the perpetrator was the same for all the murders. And Chris was right in saying that each incident was different in its execution.

The earliest victim barely had a scratch on him. Only a puncture wound straight to the base of the skull, which severed the spinal cord at the base of the brain stem, ceasing basic regulation of bodily functions.

The second victim died with similar circumstances: one strike to a vital location.

But the third victim was where it changed. Pictures showed the victim’s throat had been flayed open, blood had spilled all over his clothes, and his eyes were wide and glassy.

The fourth: a butcher knife to the head.

The fifth: bled out through extensive lacerations all over the body.

The sixth: a pole through the stomach.

The seventh: dismemberment.

“Our killer seems to be getting more and more bold.” She muttered, as she filed away the gruesome images.

“Or not.” Ray supplied, “All these victims are economically depressed, live in extremely accessible areas, and have very limited connections with family or friends.”

“So he takes easy targets.” She summarized.

“People nobody really cares about.”

Leaning back in the conference chair, Mabel hummed, thinking. If the connection between the victims was simply ‘cherry-picking’ so to speak, that wouldn’t shed much light on their killer.

“This is going to require some legwork.”

Ray pulled out the map again, “Three of the incidents were concentrated in this area,” he pointed to a downtown sector, “I would suggest starting here.”

“I agree. We’ll check out the crime scene first before moving on to the environment.” She grinned at Ray, “You driving?”

The burly man spun his keys around his finger, “Of course, detective.”

Mabel leaned out the conference room door, “Officer Gillig, could you stash these files. We’re about to head out.”

“Sure.”

“Officer Archer, will you two be joining us?”

Madison Archer tipped her head, blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder, “Those were our orders.” She clapped a hand on Ben Gillig’s towering shoulder as he hefted the file box, “And we want to help you get this case wrapped up. It’s not good for the community to have a killer running around.”

“That goes without saying.” Gillig mumbled as he disappeared to relieve his burden.

“Let’s get going!” Mabel announced.

The drive through steady traffic only took them about fifteen minutes. Stepping out of the car, Mabel noted the shabby apartment complex, decrepit and crumbling. The smell of cigarette smoke made the surrounding air stale.

The officer’s squad car pulled into the gravel lot seconds later. Archer got out of the driver’s side and waved Mabel over.

“Detective Pines,” she called, “The main office is this way. The proprietor will let us in.”

“Coming!” Mabel picked her way around shattered bottles on the ground to follow the cop. The office was no less trashy than the rest of the place, as if it was saying: you’re poor, I’m poor, get over it. A rumpled man was sitting at the desk, reading a soiled newspaper. Watery eyes barely looked up as they approached.

“Mr. Jacobs,” Officer Gillig took the lead, “This is Detective Pines. She wants to have a look at the apartment where the incident occurred.”

The landlord ran a hand through his wispy, greying hair with a grumpy sigh, “I swear, you coppers have been all over that place for over a month. You’re making the tenants jumpy.”

“That would only be a concern if they have something to hide.” Officer Archer said bluntly.

“You think any of them would do that?” Jacobs snapped, “People that live here deal with enough shit as is. They wouldn’t add to that by committing murder.”

“We can’t eliminate any possibility, Mr. Jacobs,” Mabel interjected smoothly, “But I’m not here to interrogate your tenants. I simply want to have a look at the apartment.”

“Fine.” The man stood, but his posture barely straightened. He shuffled his way to a closet, and with a clatter, grabbed a key from the key box. “Follow me.” He supplied, exiting the office.

The apartment was much like Mabel had expected it to be. Sparse furniture that probably came secondhand from a secondhand store. Stains on the walls and carpet. Dust covering every horizontal surface. The musty smell of mold subdued by the lingering scent of chemicals.

“The body was found here in the kitchen,” Officer Archer gestured to the pocket-marked, linoleum floor.

“Yeah.” Jacobs grumbled, “Blood stains on the wood won’t come out. Now I haven’t been able find anybody who wants to rent this place.”

Mabel looked closer to find that, sure enough, an ugly brown stain marred the tear in the linoleum where the wood was exposed. The remnants of the most recent victim who had bled out through holes where their arms were supposed to be.

Scanning the area, it seemed that the apartment was almost clean relative to the rest of the complex. A more thorough search revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Not a dead end, but definitely not a lead.

“I think most of the information made it into the police reports,” she concluded, nodding to Ray.

Jacobs muttered something about wasting his time as they left, locking the door before limping his way back to the office. Mabel watched him go, disgruntled with his less-than-helpful attitude.

“Where to next, Detective Pines?”

“Lunch.” Mabel answered definitively, “I’m thinking pancakes.”

The two officers stared open mouthed as Mabel casually got into the car and started taking notes on her phone. Ray simply grinned and shrugged, “Can’t fight crime on an empty stomach.”


	5. My Tie Is Pink Because Pink Is Professional

Mabel tried not to let herself be disappointed. It was only the first day on the job, after all. But the crime scenes they’d visited were all as immaculate as the first one. Washed clean to rid the apartments of essence of dead body and separated from the occurrence by months, there wasn’t a wayward clue in sight.

Which was strange in itself. Why had she been called in now? The investigative files from Detective Werner were thorough. Why wasn’t he the one to follow up? It would seem to indicate that the Salem Police Department had come across some information that made them think Detective Mabel Pines was the woman for the job. But she had yet to see said information.

She keyed herself into the hotel room, flipping on the TV to a random channel. Groaning, she changed into pajamas and flopped back onto the scratchy surface of the cheap, hotel comforter. The noise from the television provided a low drone in her ears. Closing her eyes, she let the day wash over her.

Only to be interrupted.

Mabel didn’t jump, but a shiver ran down her spine and the tempo of her heart spiked as her cell phone rang out a jarring jingle. Eyes blurry when she reopened them, she struggled to grasp her phone and swipe the ‘connect call’ command.

“Detective Mabel Pines speaking.” She answered, keeping her tone even to belie the fact that she had almost been asleep

“Detective, this is Officer Golar from SPD.” a tight voice responded, “You’re needed at a crime scene. I’ll text you the address. But the Deputy Chief wants you here as soon as possible.”

“Alright. I’m on my way.”

Without further pleasantries, Mabel hung up and scavenged the room for her discarded clothes. Hastily, she pulled on her suit jacket and skirt. With practiced motions she fastened a Winsor knot with her tie and buckled her holster so her pistol rested comfortably against the small of her back.

Within seconds she had breezed out the door to pound on Ray’s.

“Crime time.”

A groan, “Give me five minutes.”

“Make it two.”

Two minutes and forty seconds later, Ray emerged, looking spotless to the casual observer. But Mabel could see the stitching pattern of the comforter faintly imprinted on the side of his face as well as his crew cut just noticeably flattened. She smiled, “Forty seconds too slow.”

He grumbled incoherently as he shut the door and strode down the hallway in the direction of the parking lot.

But Mabel was relentless, “You must be pretty tired to fall asleep that fast.”

“It’s ten pm, Mabel. We’ve been at it all day. What’s this about anyway?”

“Got a call from the precinct a little while ago. We’re wanted at a crime scene.”

Ray raised an eyebrow and walked a little faster. “Another murder?”

“Probably. I guess we’ll find out for sure when we get there. You still have the lights right?”

A nod.

“Good. I’m driving.”

Without even looking behind him, Ray tossed the car keys over his shoulder, “Be my guest.”

They made it across town in less than ten minutes.

Flashing squad cars set the scene awash with red and blue, illuminating the grungy trailer park as Mabel and Ray made their way to the cordoned off area. She held the yellow ‘crime scene’ tape up as an older man in a suit ducked under. When he straightened, he came face to face with her, his eyes lighting in recognition.

“Mabel,” he rubbed his salt-and-pepper hair nervously, “I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly.”

Mabel tipped her head in a questioning fashion, but Ray knew it meant she was studying this man extensively, “I’m sorry, sir,” she said politely, “do I know you?”

“Ah, no.” the man extended a weathered hand, “I’m Charles Frederick, SPD Deputy Chief.”

“The one who requested me for the multiple homicide case.” Mabel clarified, shaking his hand.

“Hm, I suppose,” Frederick murmured, looking out at the darkened trailer houses, “Well, I must get going. I’m not as young as I used to be, so I’ll leave the staying up all night and performing initial investigations to you whippersnappers.”

He walked away, but as Mabel and Ray passed under the tape, he called out, “Mabel!”

She glanced at Frederick, noticing how his posture was turned into the shadows, red and blue light bouncing off his pale face, “Noting is too trivial. Take everything into account.”

“Of course.”

“Everything.” Frederick repeated, before climbing into his car and driving away.

“That was weird.” Ray muttered as they joined the crowd of policemen.

Mabel nodded, but didn’t have a chance to respond as Detective Chris Werner made an appearance.

“Well look who it is.” He oozed, “Detective Hot Shot.”

Mabel gave him a critical eye, “What are you talking about?”

Werner leaned forward, coffee breath stinking up her personal space as he sneered, “Deputy Chief Frederick was just here to tell me that this is your case now, so,” he slapped a stack of vanilla-toned folders into her arms, “I guess that means this mess is your problem.”

She didn’t let his attitude phase her, simply started leafing through the blank reports that were awaiting information. After a few seconds, she looked Werner in the eye and announced confidently, “I will do the best of my ability.”

The detective scoffed and stormed off, but Mabel let him be. She had much more important matters to deal with than what was stuck up his ass.

She took control of the situation, “Alright, I want to know: who got the initial call?”

“That would be me, sir.” A short officer piped up from the other side of the collected policemen.

“I want to talk to you. Is the coroner here?”

“On his way, sir.” An officer beside her answered.

“Good. Photographer?”

“She’s here.” The officer beside her answered again.

“You.” She pointed to the helpful officer.

“Officer Tyrone Golar, sir.”

Mabel smiled at the name, “Go wait with the photographer. I’ll be in after a minute and then we can get started. Detective Clark,” she directed Ray, “You go with them. Make sure no one disturbs the scene.”

Doing as they were told, the trio split off as the short officer stepped up. All Mabel had to do was give him a look and the man supplied the necessary information.

“I’m Officer Nate Shepherd, sir. I got a call of concern at twenty-one thirty-five hours. Neighbor, Shelly Dirk, said that she had seen a hanging figure in her neighbor’s window that hadn’t moved since the light post turned on and illuminated said window at twenty-one hundred hours. When I came to check it out, I noticed blood on the door handle leading into the trailer. I knocked, no answer. I said I was coming in, still no answer. So I broke down the door and found the body.”

Furiously typing notes into her phone, Mabel nodded, “Thank you, Shepherd. You may attend to your duties now. Just make sure that you get me a copy of your full report before zero eight hundred hours tomorrow.”

The man nodded and Mabel marched off to investigate her crime scene.


	6. Hey, Pull My Finger

The photographer, Alice Harding, reminded Mabel of how she used to be. Only, were Mabel had been all about glitter and boys, this girl was all about morbid.

“That’s an interesting way to kill someone.” Was the first comment Alice made before she feverishly began photographing every inch of the scene.

And it was. The silhouette did indeed look like someone had hung themselves, but from the inside, it was obvious that the victim had been strung up. Wires, crisscrossing the body, sunk profoundly into the flesh. Blood had pooled and congealed underneath as the man’s toes dangled a foot above the floor. Mabel tried not to stare too long at his glassy eyes, frozen in terror by death.

Filling out the reports as she went, Mabel – with Ray trailing behind her – examined the trailer house.

Similar to the other living spaces she had visited that day, the space was trashy. But unlike the previous crime scenes, this one was fresh. Empty beer bottles littered the floor, the kitchen didn’t look like it had been cleaned in weeks, unopened letters piled up on every horizontal surface. A layer of dust was simply like icing on the cake of the unkempt space. But all the same, Mabel asked distractedly, “Is the forensics investigator here?”

“That’s me!” A short, pale-blonde man heaved a heavy case through the trailer doorway, “Argent Advic at your service!”

Mabel thought he might be bowing and belatedly realized that his hands were resting on his knees as he huffed. Asthma, she thought, only a second before he broke out his inhaler.

“When you’re ready, can you get a sample of the dust? I’d like a full chemical breakdown.”

“That’s what I do.”

Her pen flew, writing down every detail like she had been doing this all her life rather than just two years. Ray occasionally added his thoughts as well.

“He’s missing a digit.” Ray commented.

“Which one?”

“Left pinky.”

“See if you can find it.”

Ray got on the ground to peer under the couch, chair, and tables, pulling a penlight out of his pocket to illuminate the darkened spaces. In the meantime, Mabel finished the last annotation, closing the folders Detective Werner had provided her. Chris was right: the crime scene itself didn’t provide much to go on.

“I couldn’t find it.” Ray confessed when he returned to her side after fifteen minutes.

Since she was done with the preliminary reports, Mabel let Alice go crazy with the camera and the victim. The trailer was lit by a faux strobe light, the camera shutter acting as an arrhythmic accompaniment. When the overeager photographer finished, Mabel beckoned the coroner – Bekett Miller – in to examine the body. He did so slowly and purposefully, taking his own notes with deft practice before ordering some officers to cut the man down and move him into a body bag.

While supervising their progress, Mabel also swept the trailer in search of the elusive finger. But her luck proved to be no better than Ray’s as she came up empty handed.

She caught the coroner on the way out the door, “I’d like you to do a full autopsy.”

Bekett raised a grey eyebrow, the wrinkles on his face seemed to question why she would ask for such a thing when the cause of death was obviously excessive hemorrhaging and blood loss.

“We couldn’t find the missing digit on his left hand so I’d like to be sure that everything else is normal.”

The old man shrugged indifferently, “I’ll get on that tomorrow. I don’t function on all-nighters as well as I used to. And tonight is still going to be a late one with the prep on this body.”

Mabel gave him her patented smile, “Thanks for coming.”

“I can’t really stay away. My work is my obsession.”

“Me too.”

Bekett winked and set off to coordinate the officers bearing the body. In a minute, his van drove off to the station and Mabel returned to the scene.

“What else do you need, detective?” Officer Golar asked.

Seeing that Ray was handling the final arrangements for the initial investigation, Mabel turned her attention to the neighboring trailer house, “I need to have a word with Ms. Dirk.”


	7. The Color Yellow Loves A Challenge, And I’d Say We’ve Got One

It was just past three in the afternoon when Mabel and Ray made it to the station the next day. The final arrangements for the initial investigations had been wrapped up at five in the morning. Mabel barely remembered passing out on top of the covers when they had returned to the hotel. By the looks of Ray’s third cup of coffee, his experience was likely similar.

“What are we doing here again?” Ray asked, rubbing the bags under his eyes.

“I want to have a word with Deputy Chief Frederick. After that, we need to pick up the files for interviews at the bar.”

“Oh, right.”

Mabel had decided that the next course of action, while the body and evidence were being analyzed, was to head downtown to check out the bar scene. After her interrogation of the neighbor, Ms. Dirk, Mabel had found out that the victim frequented a local place called The Blue Moose Inc. Invoices littered about the man’s trailer corroborated her account. It was time for Mabel to do what she did best: talk to people.

It took some time to find the deputy chief’s office, tucked in a corner of the crowded precinct. Mabel knocked on the door and when no one answered she tried the handle.

“He’s not in.” Officer Archer announced as she arrived, “He left early today. Around two, I think.”

“So he’s avoiding me?” Mabel grumbled.

Hand on her hip, Madison tilted her head in question.

“It’s nothing.” Mabel relented, “Did you find what I asked for?”

“Tyrone is working on it right now. Will you be needing anything else this afternoon? A police escort, for example.”

Smiling at the woman, Mabel answered, “No, we’ll be fine on our own. Just poking around to get some more background on our victims.”

“Sounds good.” Archer nodded, “Well, if you wait right here, I’ll go see what’s holding Ty up.”

“Thanks.” Ray said for his partner as Archer strode off.

Bored with the lack of activity, Mabel let her eyes wander over the busy station. It looked a lot like the Sacramento Police department actually, but she guessed, some things just came standard. Like a corkboard filled with notices, wanted posters, and missing persons reports.

Her brow crinkled together at the sight, and an unwanted memory swam to the surface: sitting a dirty, padded chair at another police station, much smaller and quieter than this one. Waiting. Watching. It was the first time she could remember Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland being serious. The first time they diligently asked questions and filed paperwork. The first time she realized something was truly and terribly wrong. Grunkle Stan _willingly_ went to the authorities.

Dipper had been gone for three days.

And the only thing that changed after their visit was an eight by eleven inch sheet of the paper bearing his image, pinned on a corkboard, yellowing as it aged. For thirteen years.

“Found him!” Archer’s call snapped Mabel out of her reverie and she forced a smile on her face. The woman waved and tugged Officer Golar along as he tried to keep the folders he was holding from spilling everywhere. “He got lost in the records room.”

“Did not.” Tyrone sniffed.

Mabel took the files, letting the information stream through her mind to push out the unpleasant flashback. Distracted, she didn’t notice Ray had thanked the officers and dismissed them until he had guided her into the afternoon sunlight on the way to the car. Blinking like an owl, she dropped into the passenger seat.

“Seems like the gears are turning.” Ray observed as he started the vehicle and pulled out onto the city streets, “Is it the case or something else? Possibly sleep deprivation?”

“Something else.” She muttered, “Give me some time.”

Ray nodded and turned on the radio instead. Scanning the stations, he caught the tail end of trivia game and let the sound fill the car.

“Is the answer ‘ _toaster_ ’?” hesitancy clearly colored the contestant’s voice.

“Correct!” the host declared enthusiastically, “Congratulations, you’ve won two tickets to see Oregon famous, master or illusions and magic, Gideon Gleeful. His show will be…”

Mabel spun the knob on the stereo, not bothering to tune in to anything. As a result, static hummed over the speakers. Ray shot her a worried frown, turning down the volume. “You have a thing against stage performers or something?”

“More like a thing against, Gideon Gleeful.” She muttered into the window.

Ray didn’t say anything, letting her work it out on her own.

Shops and restaurants flew by, their appearance steadily decreasing in quality. She wondered if they would be doomed to roam around only the shady parts of Salem for the duration of the investigation. It was cause for wondering just what kind of killer was seemingly motivated by the sheer need for committing murder.

Pulling into a parallel parking slot in front of a rundown chapel, Ray asked, “Ready?”

Drawing a deep breath, she replied, “Of course.”

The bar was a few blocks away, but they arrived in no time. A chime on the door announced their entrance, and belatedly, Mabel realized that among this crowd their suits made them more conspicuous than professional. A few eyebrows raised, but soon the late-afternoon drinkers returned to minding their own business and Mabel made her way up to the bar.

The bartender, a heavily tattooed man that looked to be in his forties, put down the glass he was cleaning and came over to where she and Ray sat.

“Anything I can get for you?”

“I’ll take a Pitt if you have it.” Mabel ordered.

“And you?” he directed at Ray.

“Just water.”

The man shot Ray a dirty look.

“Bottled water then.”

“What are people like you doing in a place like this?” the bartender asked as he pulled the requested drinks from a cooler under the counter.

Ambiguously, Mabel responded with her patented cheer, “We’re here to meet some people.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, nearly-black eyes sparkled with intelligence “Not many meetings of the sort you dress up fancy for happen in this part of town.”

“Strictly casual meetings then.” Mabel amended. “If you might point out a few of your regular customers, we can get out of your hair much quicker. And pardon me, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Those kind of meetings, huh? The name’s Andrew Jekyll. But don’t go jumping to any wild conclusions. Working here every night doesn’t leave me a lot of space in my calendar for a crime life, detective.”

She was about to respond, only to be interrupted by a yell that came from the back room.

“Jenkins!” Mabel caught sight of the bartender rolling his eyes before she turned to find the source of the commotion. A younger looking man, tall and skinny with hair obviously dyed the same shade as ink, stormed out the connecting door. Silver earrings were the only thing brighter than black in his rocker apparel. He had a rolled up cable slung over his shoulder.

“I’ve told you a million times, kid. It’s Jekyll. You don’t listen. It’s amazing that you have the hearing capacity to produce music for a living.”

The rocker bristled, the action striking Mabel as familiar.

“I can’t find my spare guitar strings.” He seethed, “You promised me everything in that closet would be secure. You’ll be paying for a replacement set.”

Jekyll sighed, formulating a response, but Mabel interrupted him.

“Robbie?”

The young man stared at her, not bothering to hide the way his gaze lingered on places they normally shouldn’t. “Do I know you?” he finally muttered.

“’Robbie!’” Jekyll sputtered, “That’s cute, Valentino.”

“Shut up,” Robbie snapped, “That’s what people used to call me when I was a kid…” His voice trailed off and his eyes snapped back to Mabel. “Pines?” it came out as a question.

“Glad to hear I was memorable.”

That was sarcasm.


	8. Wounds Never Heal Completely And Heartbreak Lasts Forever

Robbie seemed to struggle for words, “What are you doing in Oregon?”

“I can go wherever I want, Robbie. What are you doing in Salem? Or more specifically, what are you doing in The Blue Moose Inc.?”

Glancing around nervously, he answered, “I lead a band called _Immortalized Heartbreak_. We play here a few nights a week.”

“So you know the customers pretty well?”

“As a matter of fact, he does.” Jekyll supplied, “So Valentino, since you seem to know this young lady, why don’t you answer her questions while I get back to work.”

“You paying me for my time?” Robbie grumbled.

Jekyll glared, “For once, do something that doesn’t involve cash flow.”

When the bartender wandered out of earshot, Robbie whispered a choice insult under his breath. Mabel felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. So Robbie Valentino was as testy and angry as ever. Good to know.

“What’s going on here anyway.” He said sourly.

As innocently as ever, Mabel chimed, “Oh, I’m just asking around about some people.” She slid the photos of a few of the victims out of her folders and laid them on the bar, “Do you recognize any of these gentlemen.”

“Yeah. All of them.”

Ray spoke up, “You’re sure?”

Robbie sniffed, not letting the bigger man intimidate him, “In my defense, they’re regulars. And not my biggest fans either. Why are you asking?”

Mabel ignored his question and pressed, “Do you know if they usually drank alone, together, or maybe with other people?”

“I don’t know. I don’t pay _that_ close attention. I don’t even know their names. I have my own shit to worry about most of the time.” He squirmed, repeating, “Why are you asking?”

“You don’t read the paper, do you Robbie?” Ray observed.

“Don’t call me that!” the rocker snapped, “Why would I? It’s a waste of time.”

“You sound like you’re a busy guy.” Mabel noted.

Robbie, still seething over Ray’s use of his nickname, growled at Mabel, “If you must know, I’m not the most successful artist in Oregon. I work some odd jobs outside of performing. Speaking of which, didn’t Wendy say you went into law enforcement, or something like that? Is that what this is about?”

She only gave a nod to confirm his suspicion before pursuing the subject, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”

His patience finally spent, Robbie snarled, “It’s none of your business, Pines. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to set up for the show tonight.”

Ray seemed ready to say something to set the punk musician straight, but Mabel held out her hand to stop him. Politely, she called after Robbie as he stormed off, “Good luck tonight!”

“Well he seems like a charming character.” Ray grit out. His fists were clenched and his neck taut as he glared after the skinnier man. Mabel smiled fondly. Ray always got this way when people didn’t properly respect her. It was an honorable trait, but not one that would maintain her connection with Robbie.

She leaned back on her barstool and took a sip of her soda. “He’s always been that way.” She explained, her smile growing as she remembered, “He’s good at pissing people off.”

“How do you know him?”

“Robbie’s from a small town in Oregon called Gravity Falls. I had a great uncle who happened to live there as well. We met a few times when I stayed for the summer.”

Ray raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not a big town.”

“He’s a witness. Will that be a problem?”

Remembering their casual relationship – his constant barbs aimed at Dipper, her helping him get together with Tambry, the thoughtful gift basket from his group of friends when she felt like her world was falling apart – Mabel reminded herself that those events were in the distant past. People changed. “No.”

Seemingly satisfied, Ray eased back into his barstool and leaned forward on the counter, “So what’s the game plan, detective?”

“The usual,” she replied, “Pick your half of the bar. Any customer that crosses over, interview even if I already have. No missing anyone.”

He groaned, “Every time you say that, and then most of the establishment wanders into my territory.”

Mabel’s smirk was unrepentant, “Then you need to get better at picking sides.” She gestured to the expanse of the bar, “I’ll even let you go first. No pressure.”

That didn’t seem to make Ray feel any better, but regardless, he turned to examine the space. “Divide at the right end of the stage, I’ll take the left side.” He didn’t like the way Mabel’s smirk grew. Not at all.


	9. Step Right Up To A World Of Mystery

Mabel stifled a yawn as she pushed her way through the front doors of the Salem Police Department. After staying out late, interviewing at the bar, she had proceeded to insist that she and Ray needed to be at the precinct first thing in the morning. He didn’t look happy with the decision, but he seemed to understand the reasoning.

Argent Advic had finished the lab tests. Beckett Miller had finished the autopsy. And Mabel need to have words with the Deputy Chief.

For once, it seemed like the atmosphere of the station was quiet and airy. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows and illuminated motes of dust. The noise of paper shifting as officials flipped through reports was the only audible sound.

Finding the office from the day before with ease, Mabel knocked on the wooden door.

A soft “come in” answered from within.

Mabel took a deep breath and let herself in. She had asked Ray to remain outside, not sure how Charles Frederick would react to her accusations. However, the man in question didn’t seem surprised to see her. He was seated behind his desk, a resigned look on his pale face.

“Detective Pines. What brings you here?”

“I think you already know.” Mabel kept her voice crisp – not willing to let this slide.

The deputy chief sighed tiredly, “It was pointless to try and hide something from a brilliant detective like yourself.”

She frowned, “I’m hardly ‘brilliant.’ There are a plethora of people more astute and qualified than I. Detective Werner for example. Why did you take him off the homicide case? Why did you want me? How did you even know about me?”

“You’ve done some pretty impressive work in Sacramento for one so young.”

“Granted. But that doesn’t explain why you would expend the effort to bring me here against the wishes of your police chief.” Frederick winced, “Don’t think I didn’t notice Rudick’s attitude. And when we first met, you called me by my first name, not my title. Yet you claim we haven’t met.”

“We haven’t.” Frederick confessed, “But I knew your great uncle.”

That caused Mabel to pause. Stan hadn’t been on very good terms with, well, anyone on the right side of the law. Taking her silence as a cue to continue, the Deputy Chief continued.

“It was a long time ago. I was an officer in Bend, but since Gravity Falls doesn’t have much of a police force, we would often respond to extenuating circumstances there. The first time I was sent over it was because a rock slide had been triggered by some freak weather. When the Bend officers arrived, there was this grouchy man – I think was in his forties at the time – directing the locals that were helping dig people out. He only gave his name as Mr. Mystery, and he spent most of his time grumbling about magic storms.”

Mabel felt every muscle in her body go stiff. Magic. Gnomes asking her to marry them. Time traveling to win Soos a birthday present. Her brother, pupils slitted and iris golden.

Frederick continued, “Ever since I was young, the weirdest things would make me sick. But I’d never vomited more in a twenty-four hour period than when I visited Gravity Falls. Long story short, I found out I was sensitive to magic. From that point on, whenever I ran into something strange while on duty that made me nauseous, I would give Stan a call. It got me further than the people who didn’t believe in the paranormal. Starting some years ago, all he could talk about was ‘his kids.’”

She could see it. Stan bragging about her and Dipper over the phone. Recruiting anyone and everyone for help in the search for Dipper. Feigning disappointment when Mabel decided to go into law enforcement. It made her throat constrict. She really missed him.

“This case,” the deputy chief shook his head and Mabel finally pieced together his washed-out complexion, his pinched expression, and his mechanical movements, “it’s worse than anything I’ve seen in a while. I can barely stay at the scenes for five minutes. I needed someone who could investigate with an open mind.”

“So you requested me?”

“My condolences, Detective Pines. I know your family has suffered much on the whims of the supernatural. For that same reason, I didn’t have very many options.”

 Mabel nodded. She understood the logic. “I better get back to work then.”

Frederick smiled, “If there is anything you need. Anything at all. Just let me know. I want this investigation to go as smoothly as possible for you.”

“Yessir!” she chirped, but it was forced.


	10. I’ve Seen A Lot, And This Is Nothing New

“This is one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen.” The forensic scientist was jabbering excitedly, “I ran the physical properties through a database, but no matches came back positive. So I took it back to back to basic chemistry: NMR, IR spectroscopy, and mass spectrometry.” He gestured to scratch paper covered in chemical formulae, “It’s impossible! Whatever this plant matter is, it shouldn’t be able to stay in this configuration, but it does! There must be some sort of weird energy holding it together!!!”

Mabel encouraged Argent Advic to calm down before he had an asthma attack. But a puff of his inhaler did nothing to quell the light in his eyes.

“I’ve just,” a wheeze, “Never seen anything like this before.”

“Is that the only irregularity?” Ray queried.

“Yep. All the other compounds are as normal as dust can get.”

Mabel let that sink in. After Deputy Chief Frederick’s account, it was easier to puzzle together the abnormality. But what was magic plant matter doing mixed in with dust at a murder scene?

“Let us know if anything else seems strange to you. Otherwise, I’ll just look through these.” She held up the reports Argent had compiled.

He nodded seriously, causing his thick glasses to slip down his nose, “Of course. Everything in there is pretty standard though.” They left the science enthusiast alone in his lab, allowing him to return to the conundrum magical molecular structure.

“More questions and no answers.” Ray grumbled.

Smiling demurely, Mabel corrected, “Well, we now have a baseline of sorts. It’s a bummer they didn’t run tests on the dust at the previous incidents. That way we could have concrete evidence to connect them. Then again, I only had it checked on a hunch.”

Ray nodded, “Good intuition. Speaking of which, what were you were talking to Frederick about?”

“Intuition.”

He rolled his eyes, dissatisfied. But she ignored him in favor of holding the door open to the morgue. Ray entered first, greeting the elderly coroner, “Good morning, Mr. Miller.”

“You can just call me Beckett.”

Mabel nodded to the gray haired man, “What do you have for us today?”

“A body.”

Ray palled a little at the dry response, but Mabel cracked a smile. “Do explain.”

“Well, he was _dying_ to meet you.”

She muffled her chuckles with a hand as Ray’s incredulous stare alternated between the two of them. After a few false starts, he simply requested, “Can we be a little more professional? For the sake of my sanity at least?”

Beckett pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, winking at Mabel, “Jokes keep us young, my friend. Sadly, some opportunities come at the expense of others. Anyway,” he uncovered the body, the victim’s skin effusing the cold aura of death, “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the primary cause of death was excessive blood loss. The wire sunk as deep as three centimeters in some places. But of course, the mortal factor was where it severed the brachial and femoral arteries, both on the left side.”

He pointed to each wound in succession.

“What’s interesting is this missing digit.” Beckett indicated the stump where the pinky was supposed to be, “The nature of the laceration doesn’t match that of the ones inflicted by the wire. If I were to hazard a guess based on my previous experience, I’d say it as chopped off with a butcher’s knife.”

Ray nodded, “We believe that the culprit may have used such a weapon on previous victims.”

The coroner shrugged, “I leave that kind of conclusion to you detectives.”

“Anything internal to note?” Mabel prodded.

“Tons.” Beckett continued, “Though most of them are probably not related to his sudden murder. Failing liver and kidneys, small spot of cancer in his lung, low brain mass. Typical signs of destitute alcoholic.”

“You said _most_ though.”

Beckett seemed gratified by Mabel’s question, “Exactly. He had a heavy lining of mucous down his pharynx, larynx, and trachea. That’s usually the result of a primary immune response. I’d say there was something abnormal in the air at the time of death, but I couldn’t get a chemical sample since it had already been broken down by Lysozyme – a natural enzyme in the body.”

“The dust.” Ray guessed. “We found a strange compound in the dust at the scene.”

“That would explain it. But from the autopsy, I wouldn’t be able to conclude the dust’s affect.”

However, Mabel wasn’t really thinking about the dust. It was simply a mode. She was focused on the motivation. Why had the finger been taken separately? It almost seemed like it had been… harvested.

“Beckett.” Her tone came out sharper than she intended so both men snapped to attention, “I presume you examined the bodies of the previous victims.”

“I examine all the bodies that pass through the Salem Police Department, detective.”

“I realize it’s not the most accurate approach, but if I get you names, information, and pictures of the previous victims, do you think you could recall any oddities you observed. I want to know if any other tissues were taken.”

The old coroner’s smile was sharp and confident. “Young lady, besides having a bad taste in jokes and dealing with dead people on a day-to-day basis, could you guess why I’m still alone in this crypt after seventy-four years.”

Entertaining his little game, Mabel replied without decorum, “That can usually indicate some sort of personal inhibition. A unique quirk?”

“Yes.” Beckett’s smile widened, “People don’t really appreciate it when you remember more about them than they do themselves.”

“You have a prolific memory.”

“Give me a day or two to review the files. Then you will get your answer, detective.”


	11. If That Works For You, But It Doesn’t Change That You’re A Total Novice

“Beckett kind of creeps me out.” Ray muttered.

Mabel shot him a withering glance, “I’ve known some very intelligent people whose greatest weakness was social settings.”

They took the elevator up from the morgue, Ray deciding not to comment further lest he end up with his foot his mouth again. Mabel seemed somewhat fond of the weird, old coroner. But the thought was soon pushed from his mind when the elevator doors opened to the precinct, enveloped in more chaos than usual.

Mabel snagged Officer Tyrone Golar’s arm as he bustled past, “What’s going on?” She asked.

The officer blew his brown bangs out of his face, rolling his equally brown eyes, “Last night, the officers downtown dragged in a whole paddy wagon of drunks that got out of hand and started a rather epic bar fight. They’re just now waking up. We’re trying to get the story straight, but I think that’s about as likely to happen as Chief Rudick buying the entire force birthday presents.”

“What bar?”

“Huh?”

“At what bar did this happen?” Mabel insisted.

“Oh, Blue Moose Inc.”

Ray noticed how Mabel’s face broke into a triumphant grin as she said, “Thank you, Officer.”

Tyrone seemed confused by the expression, but he simply shrugged it off and continued on his way.

“What are you thinking, Mabel.” Ray muttered with some trepidation.

“I’m thinking I need to have a chat with an old friend. Can I trust you to get me an interview with Mr. Robert Valentino?”

“Sure, but what are you going to do?”

She winked, “You’ll see.”

The Salem police department really was similar to the Sacramento branch; even the evidence room was in the same place. Mabel let herself in and rifled through the items confiscated from last night’s bust. A basket carefully labeled ‘Robert Valentino’ contained an assortment of objects: wallet, guitar pick, a pack of gum, among other things. But she was looking for something more specific.

Bingo.

Grabbing the object of interest, she let herself back out and found the interrogation rooms. Ray’s dusty blonde head was easily visible above the crowd of officers.

“Are we ready?” She asked.

“Almost.” Ray answered, sounding grim, “What’s this about anyway? You didn’t explain anything before you ran off.”

“I’m furthering our investigation.” She knew she was wearing a shit-eating grin, but she didn’t care. Wiggling the item she had found in the evidence room, her grin only widened when Ray only looked even more confused.

“I don’t understand.”

“Detective Pines!” Tyrone called, “Your turn.”

“Thank you, officer!” she responded far too cheerfully.

Early in Mabel’s career in law enforcement, she had decided that there was nothing more bland or lacking in style than an interrogation room. In practice, she understood the idea behind it. But she felt that she could attain equally satisfactory results with a smile and a few tons of overwhelming personality. It was her way of throwing people off guard.

“Mr. Valentino. How are you this morning?”

“Ugh, it’s the brat. What are you doing here?”

If they were trying the good-cop/bad-cop approach, then Ray was the bad-cop. He slammed a stack of files on the metal table and plopped into the opposing steel chair. All his irritation due to sleep deprivation and the early morning hour simply oozed out of him as he glared at Robbie.

“It’s Detective Pines to you.” He growled, “And I would show her the proper respect. Else it might take you a little longer to get out of here than you’re used to, punk.”

“Now, Detective Clark. Don’t you think it’s still too early for threats?” Mabel let her tone hum soothingly, for the sake of both the men in the room.

Ray sat back in his seat, letting Mabel take the lead.

“So what happened last night, Mr. Valentino?” Mabel queried calmly, “Just tell us your side of the story. Honesty is highly appreciated.”

Robbie still seemed skeptical of Mabel’s presence, his eyes narrowed and posture rigid. But Ray’s glare seemed to add enough pressure. Tucking his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, Robbie began his account.

“It was after the concert ended. Usually a few people will come up to the band members to complement our work or offer suggestions. I was talking to a few fans myself when this jackass pushes his way up to me and starts spouting off a bunch of bullshit about how awful the band is and how we’ll never get anywhere in life. Basically being the biggest bastard you can imagine.”

Mabel nodded, prompting him to continue from where she stood behind Ray. Last night, they had left before the end of the performance, but she could imagine some of the unsavory characters she’d spoken with would be capable of such incivility.

“So,” Robbie let out a breath he must have been holding, not looking Mabel in the eyes, “I told him that no one made him stay and he didn’t have to listen to us play if he didn’t want to. Guy must’ve been drunk off his ass because I was polite about it, but he still threw the first punch.”

“You don’t seem to be injured, Mr. Valentino.” Ray coolly observed.

Robbie glared, “I’m pretty good at dodging.”

Mabel stifled a giggle behind her hand. The memory of Robbie running from Rumble McSkirmish, brought to life by an enchanted cheat code, suddenly resurfaced. He _was_ good at dodging. Which turned out to be a good thing as Dipper’s earliest flirtations with magic usually threw consequences to the wind.

The rocker’s face colored. He must have caught her train of thought, remembering that she had witnessed that embarrassing episode. Robbie coughed into his hand.

“Anyway, the bastard came after me, flailing all over the place. I think he nicked a bystander, cause another group of guys got involved about the same time the other band members came to help me out. Chaos just kind of erupted after that.” Mabel watched closely as Robbie finished the story, speaking at the table, “That nark Jenkins was probably the one who called the police.”

“Jekyll.” Ray corrected.

Robbie blew his bangs out of his eyes so everyone present could see him roll them.

“Can I go now?” He whined.

Mabel smirked, beginning to pace around the circumference of the room, “Not quite. Last night, I asked you about some individuals and I’m still not happy with the answers you gave me. I think you are lying about something. Both last night and now.”

“W-what!” Robbie sputtered, “What gave you that idea!?!”

Passing behind Ray as she looped the room, Mabel shrugged, her smirk still in place.

“You can’t keep me here for no reason!” the rocker objected, craning his next around to look at Mabel as she circled him.

Mabel let superiority layer her voice, “But I do have a reason. You are now a material witness for a series of murder. You’ll be accommodated with a nice jail cell until you decided to give more satisfactory responses.”

Robbie’s outrage was palpable, filling the featureless room, “Based on what evidence!?!”

Pulling the object she had retrieved from the evidence room, Mabel tossed a pouch on the table so some of its contents spilled out onto the shiny surface: white, crystalline grains of salt. Both Robbie’s and Ray’s eyebrows raised comically.

“What is the most common ward against post-mortal spirits?”

Her tone was rhetorical, but all the same, Ray murmured incredulously, “Rock salt?”

“Yep. Extremely basic. Not very effective. Any experienced paranormal investigator would know that the best method for dealing with hauntings is to help the spirits come to terms with whatever is keeping them from moving on.”

“How does this incriminate me?” Robbie was obviously trying to sound surly, but his voice came out squeaky. A bead of sweat was forming on his brow and his eyes darted anywhere but the two detectives.

“A murderer would not be able to put spirits to rest if he was the one that caused their demise.” Mabel concluded, “Hence the salt.”

“You think I’m a suspect!?!”

Mabel strode to the door of the interrogation room resting her hand on the handle as she informed Robbie coolly, “I’ll give you time to reconsider you’re story.”

The metal door clanged shut with chilling finality.


	12. All Around Me Are Familiar Faces

****

Ray followed her out only a few seconds later. There was a frown on his face as he tucked the files from the interrogation under his arm. “The superstitious mumbo jumbo isn’t enough to convict him, Mabel.” He muttered under his breath.

She didn’t miss the doubtful look in his grey eyes. Yes, the rock salt wasn’t enough to put Robbie on trial, but it was enough to hold him, make him squirm, and make him talk. He was hiding something, and Mabel planned to get to the bottom of it whether it had to do with her case or not. It was too much of a coincidence to be called to Salem to investigate and to run into him on the third day. What Ray didn’t understand was that her concern with Robbie’s superstitions were perfectly viable for individuals who had spent any amount of time in Gravity Falls.

“Officer Golar,” She called the young man over, opting to ignore Ray’s criticism, “Can you please take Mr. Valentino back to his cell. I’d also appreciate it if you confiscated his hoodie and took it up to the lab. Tell Mr. Advic to check for the anomalies we talked about earlier. He’ll understand.”

Tyrone nodded seriously, all business. The way he handled himself acutely reminded Mabel of how Dipper had wanted to be: grown up and capable of anything. He was always pushing his limits, trying in vain to mature too early. But in the end, it had all been for naught.

“So what are we going to do?” Ray sounded subdued. It made Mabel feel a little bit guilty for ignoring his concerns, but how was she supposed to explain the existence of magic without further evidence?

She checked her watch. Eleven in the morning. But they had a lot of information to sift through. Robbie’s criminal history, the reports they’d gathered this morning, as well as their notes from the bar patrons last night, just to name a few.

“How do you feel about brunch?” She asked her partner, “Sit down, get the glucose circulating, dive in and see what kind of connections we can come up with.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mabel was relieved to hear him sounding slightly more upbeat at the thought of food. So, in short order, they found a café downtown near the police station. Requesting a booth in the corner and ordering heaping amounts of food, the two set to work.

Absently chewing bites of pancakes as she read, Mabel mulled over the information she and Ray had gathered in the past few days. The interviews at the bar had come back relatively empty; while most patrons recognized the victims from the photos, no one could provide their name or any further information. It was starting to seem like the killer had thoroughly researched their victims so as not to leave any trail behind.  Whether that was the result of intelligence or random chance was still unclear.

Argent’s report contained more tests on the chemical makeup of the dust along with an evaluation of the murder weapon. After assessing the wire, he’d found the tensile strength to be roughly four hundred thousand psi with a diameter of twelve thousands of an inch. He also noted that all the blood samples were identical to the victim’s. Beckett had basically summarized his findings that morning, but Mabel scanned through his report as a quick refresher.

Finally, she looked at Robbie’s file. A history that consisted mostly of misdemeanors – vandalism, loitering, and petty theft – made murder seemed a bit farfetched. But just because…

“Mabel Pines?”

A voice, high and layered in a honeyed southern accent made Mabel lose her train of thought. Disgustingly familiar, but she continued as if she hadn’t heard anything.

“It is! Mabel, my marshmallow. Whatever are you doing in a place like this?”

Cringing, she turned to behold the sight of the one and only Gideon Gleeful. He wasn’t as short as he used to be, but he was by no means tall. Other than that, not much about him had changed. His choice of suits were still those vomit-worthy pastel colors. His white hair was as sparkly and bulbous as it had been when they were kids. His admittedly cute, piggy nose was his only redeeming factor.

“Gideon.” She said icily. A long time ago she had found out that it didn’t matter whether she was polite to him or not, he never gave up. “What are you doing here?”

Ray’s eyes lit in recognition, but he was completely ignored by the erstwhile conman. Gideon’s attention was only for Mabel, accompanied by that sickly smile that oozed flamboyant charm. Only she knew that all his charisma was but a thin charade to hide his rotten core.

“I pulled into town last night. I have a few shows at the civic center over the next few days if you didn’t know.” With a flourish, he pulled a pamphlet seemingly out of thin air, “This is this year’s schedule. Just tell me which one you’d like to attend and I’ll make you the guest of honor, my marshmallow.”

“Does it pain you to use her real name?” Ray grit out.

Gideon ignored him, continuing, “This is my favorite restaurant in town. It must be fate that we met here!”

“I don’t believe in fate.” Mabel grumbled.

Still Gideon pressed on, “But you didn’t answer my initial question! What are you up to these days? I must say, you are even more beautiful than when you were when we were kids. Not that you weren’t stunning then. But now you simply take my breath away!”

“And yet you’re still talking.” Ray observed.

“You know I was always cut out to be a showman, my marshmallow.” Mabel wasn’t surprised that Gideon was talking about himself. On the other hand, Ray was openly staring, astounded by the other man’s ability to be so completely egotistical. “Obviously after the little hiccup with the law all those years ago, I had to prove myself to be as upstanding and reputable as I was all along. And you also know, I was always interested in magic. I combined showmanship and magic into a flourishing career. These days, in Oregon I’m known as one of the greatest illusionists. I’m always on tour. People just can’t get enough of me!”

“I can.” Ray muttered.

Mabel certainly agreed. Shuffling her files together, she checked her phone after unearthing it from a pile of papers. A missed call displayed on her lock screen, the number one she didn’t recognize. But at this point, if it meant stemming the tide of Gideon’s self-expose, she’d take it.

“I’ve got to take this call,” she interrupted, “It’s for work.”

After tucking the appropriate bills in the little folder with the check, she slid seamlessly out of the booth and made her way to the exit. All the way ignoring Gideon’s insistence that she call him and keeping her face neutral as he yelled her ‘nickname’ loud enough to draw the stares of the entire restaurant. Ray was hot on her heels, unable to escape the showman’s presence fast enough.


	13. I’d Tell You, But Then I’d Have To Kill You

“I hate Gideon,” Mabel muttered under her breath as she pushed open the SPD front doors, “I will be overjoyed if I never have to see him again. And by that I mean, for the rest of my life.”

“How do you know him?” that question seemed to be coming from Ray quite a bit recently.

“Another acquaintance – read ‘enemy’ in between the lines – from Gravity Falls. He ran an attraction in town called Lil Gideon’s Tent of Telepathy. It was a bigger sham than my uncle’s place, which is really saying a lot if you knew my uncle.”

“It sounds like you used to have very interesting summers.” Ray mused.

She sighed, “Well this one is certainly starting to rival them.”

Ray opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a shout across the precinct.

“Detective Pines!”

Mabel located the source, Argent Advic running, which was never a good thing for his lungs, around desks and nearly knocking over a few officers on the way. He was waving a sheet of paper in the air with one hand, his inhaler clasped in the other. A goofy grin was plastered on his face.

“Good news!” he huffed as he arrived in front of the pair.

Frankly, Mabel would take any news if it meant getting Gideon off her mind.

“I found another mystery molecule on that sweatshirt you asked me to examine!”

“It’s not the same structure?” She queried.

“Nope, but the bonding energy characteristic is the same as the last one. So, whatever it is, it could be coming from the same place. When you find out, will you let me know?”

“I don’t know, Argent,” Mabel frowned, “I’ll have to run it by my superiors. It might be classified.”

The forensic investigator’s face fell, but he shrugged, “I understand.”

“Thanks for you hard work.”

“No problem!” the smile was back, “And you should totally bring me more of these! They’re like really challenging puzzles. Lots of fun!”

Mabel laughed and waved as Argent returned to his lab. But somehow, his words struck an off chord. Puzzles, codes, brain teasers, they were fun? Sure, she enjoyed the satisfaction that came from piecing together clues and stopping criminals, but fun? Mysteries were her way of holding onto the past.

Speaking of which.

Ray noted the determined look that entered his partner’s dark brown eyes. Something had changed.

“We need to have a word with Mr. Valentino. Now.” She announced.

“I though you wanted to keep him in suspense?”

“Not anymore.”

Ray took the change of pace in stride. When working with Mabel, he had found that he needed to expect the unexpected. And if he couldn’t expect it, then rolling with it was his best bet. Despite her seemingly bizarre approach, she got results, often in half the time of her more experienced colleagues.

And that was how he found himself, once again in an uncomfortable steel chair, sitting across a table from the most sullen, angst-ridden rock artist he had ever met. Not that he had met many.

“Mr. Valentino, the circumstances have changed.” Mabel began.

“Hardly.” Robbie sniffed, “I already told you everything.”

“What are the typical dimensions of guitar strings, Mr. Valentino?”

The change in tactics must’ve hit Robbie like a bad case of whiplash. Ray, who had seen the reports, certainly hadn’t seen it coming. But he kept the surprise off his face. He would support his partner one hundred percent; wild ghost theories and all.

“Dimensions usually range between point-oh-oh-nine and point-oh-fifty-two. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you happen to find your missing strings last night?” Mabel pressed on without emotion.

“No.”

“Might you have used them previously and forgotten about it?”

“I guess it’s possible.” Robbie mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Mr. Valentino, can you explain the suspicious plant matter we found on your hoodie? Do you have any sort of outdoor hobbies? Hiking perhaps? Have you entered the woods for any reason in the past month?”

At the final question, Robbie’s level of comfort seemed to plummet.

“No.”

“You’re lying.” Mabel’s tone was practically dead.

“What do these questions have to do with anything!?!” Robbie exploded, “This obviously isn’t about the bar fight anymore!”

“No, Mr. Valentino,” Mabel didn’t react to his outburst, “It has to do with where you were the night before last. What were you doing?”

Robbie paused, thinking, “I was hanging out in my apartment.” He began hesitantly, “It was my day off. The band didn’t play that night, so I was relaxing. Down time, you know.”

“Can anyone corroborate your account?”

“Not that I can think of,” Robbie said after another pause, “I didn’t really talk to anyone.”

Mabel laid her hands on the cool metal of the table, looking Robbie in the eye. But it didn’t last for long. He adverted his gaze to his hands which were clenched tight so that his knuckles shone white.

“I have the evidence to convict you for murder, Robbie. A man was found dead in his trailer house the night before last, hung up by a thin wire with dimensions matching those you described. Someone you confess to being on ill terms with.” her voice was low and demanding, “Tell me the truth.”

Robbie’s eyes flicked up to hers, but only for a moment before returning to his hands. A minute passed, but Mabel didn’t move, maintaining the pressure. Ray’s steely glare was always a bonus as well.

Taking a deep breath, Robbie began, “The salt. I’ll tell you about the salt.”

“It’s a start.” Mabel huffed, straightening her posture.

“You’ve met my parents, right?”

“Yes. They’re wonderful people.”

“They’re morticians.” Robbie’s voice couldn’t have contained more disgust, “I grew up with their practice in the basement. Dead bodies and funeral decorations littered the house. It was the perfect setup for a haunting. You can’t blame me for being scared of ghosts, but I always took comfort in the fact that they were stories. Not real.”

Mabel nodded, prompting him to continue.

“And then the thing with the convenience store happened. Do you remember?”

“I had to settle for second hand accounts, “Mabel confessed, “I was sort of high on a candy that likely contained some kind of illicit drugs at the time of the incident.”

Between Ray’s surprised glance and Robbie’s flinch, her statement garnered an interesting response.

“After that, there was no way I could go back to pretending ghosts weren’t real.”

“So you moved away from Gravity Falls at the first chance you got.” Mabel deduced.

Robbie nodded, “I left my parents, I left Tambry, I left my old band. I couldn’t handle it. I thought things would be better here in Salem. And they were, until…” he swallowed before saying something so softly, Mabel couldn’t hear him.

“You’ll have to repeat that, Robbie.” She was short on patience.

“I thought I saw your brother.” His voice was still quiet. His focus was on his the surface of the table where some of the grains of salt from earlier that morning still sat.

Her heart had skipped a beat. “What?”

“I thought I saw him in town. A few weeks ago. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, I mean, I’m afraid of ghosts, right?” Robbie laughed nervously, “But I followed him. He was walking out of town, so I followed him to this shack in the woods. At night. It was hella creepy. And after watching the shack for a half hour or so, these weird lights started coming out the windows. I got a chill down my spine, like someone was watching me. So I ran. All the way back to my apartment. I locked the doors. I didn’t sleep that night. And the next morning, I found a psychic’s shop in the red light district and bought the salt.”

Mabel’s fingers felt icy. A buzz in her mind, the rational part of her mind, refused to believe what Robbie was saying. But Frederick’s warning to consider every possibility rang in her ears.

When she didn’t say anything, Robbie finished, “You see. I’m terrified of ghosts. Why would I want to make more?”

“If you’re so ‘terrified’ of ghosts,” Mabel was surprised to find her voice as steady as it was, “Then why did you follow one to a cabin in the woods at night? It sounds like ‘the perfect setup for a haunting’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Robbie pursed his lips thoughtfully, “I’ve seen ghosts,” he said, “And your brother didn’t look like one.”

Something strange and unruly twisted in her chest: a spark of old hope she’d long since extinguished. To quell it, Mabel slammed a hand on the table, startling both the men in the room, “My brother is dead!” She seethed, finding satisfaction in the surprise on Robbie’s face, “He has been for years.”

Voicing it aloud opened the floodgates for every past hurt. At thirteen years old, how was she expected to be her usual, cheerful self when her other half was missing? Was it so wrong that so much of her motivation came from making him smile, teasing him so he wouldn’t be so serious, doing silly things to annoy him? She loved her brother. It was right for her to mourn her loss.

“You’ve changed.” Robbie whispered, “Of all the people in the world, I never expected you to be so cold.”

She _had_ changed. That’s what grief did.

Mabel stormed out of the interrogation room without another word.


	14. Don’t Expect Me To Be The Same, Because I’m Not

Ray finally found her over two hours later.

Judging by the condensation on the bottle of juice he had brought her, it had taken him quite a bit of wandering around in the summer heat to track her whereabouts. Letting the tangy flavor of oranges run over her tongue, she stared out at the occupants of the grassy city park: families, couples, siblings. Everything she didn’t have.

Swallowing the bitterness with another swig of juice seemed like the best course of action. She couldn’t change the past, but the present and future where still hers to decide.

Next to her, Ray shifted on the bench and spoke, “I asked Robbie for the location of the shack, if you want to go check it out.”

It was his way of broaching the subject. She knew it was coming and yet she still wasn’t ready.

“I never knew you had a brother.”

Following her line of sight, Ray watched a pair of children, one pushing the other on a swing, both laughing loud enough to startle the scarce woodland creatures in the park. He noticed a smile on Mabel’s features, but her shoulders were tense as the breeze tossed her long brown hair around them.

“Yeah,” she finally confessed, her voice tight, “My twin, Dipper. Our birthday is coming up in about a month.”

“You never talk about him.”

“He’s gone.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that simple.” Ray’s tone was gentle yet prodding.

“You don’t like to talk about your divorce with Miranda, and I never pry.”

“Preferring not to talk about something and never mentioning something are two completely different things.” Ray answered sternly, not rising to the bait.

It was quiet as Mabel struggled to respond. The balmy, summer wind made both of them uncomfortably warm in their professional suits. The occupants of the park changed as some left and others arrived. The clock in the town square signaled four in the afternoon. The day, filled with new discoveries and rediscoveries, felt like it was dragging on forever.

“He went missing.” Mabel finally began. Telling the story in a detached way, as if it was a police report and nothing more, made it less painful, “Disappeared into thin air. It was the second time we went to stay with our great uncle in Gravity Falls for the summer. We were thirteen.”

“Was he abducted?” Ray asked quietly.

Mabel shook her head, “I don’t think so. Gravity Falls may be a tourist trap, but it’s relatively obscure. And Dipper, despite his appearance, wouldn’t have been an easy target.” She grinned at the thought of Dipper summoning zombies to terrorize anyone that tried to kidnap him, then shook her head when Ray only seemed puzzled by the comment.

“I sense some loose ends.”

“Yeah,” Mabel admitted, “Dozens of searches never uncovered any trace of him. Five years later, when I was a senior in high school, my parents decided that it wasn’t worth it to keep false hope alive. They had him declared legally dead. In my own sort of personal rebellion, I decided to join the police force. I told them that I would find him myself. But,” she sighed, “Over time, I think I’ve come to accept reality too. Dipper is dead. He has probably been dead for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Ray’s voice was full of genuine sympathy, “That must have been hard.”

The siblings from the playground were now bickering as their mom tiredly shooed them out of the park. Mabel felt her eyes grow hot, but it was likely just the hot, summer air.

She rallied herself, “Let’s go check out the shack Robbie was talking about.”

Realizing that Mabel had had enough painful reminiscing, Ray let her change the subject. Work was an ideal distraction. He had done the same thing after his marriage fell apart: focusing on his career so there was no room for self-pity. It passed the time as the wounds healed, but the scars stayed forever.

From the park bench, Mabel tossed her now empty bottle of juice into a nearby recycling bin. It clattered into the receptacle as she stood up and stretched. Ray followed suit, leading the way to where he had parked the car.

It was quiet in the vehicle as it slid through the streets. Mabel didn’t feel like talking, instead staring out the windows as the urban landscape faded and the forest reclaimed the edge of Salem. Glancing at a roughly drawn map on a sheet of paper, Ray turned onto a gravel road outside the city limits. The rocks crackled under the wheels, filling the cabin with a dull hum.

“It doesn’t go any further.” Ray announced, drawing Mabel’s attention forward. Sure enough, the road had ended. A narrow path through the underbrush was the only indication that it wasn’t a complete dead end.

Mabel climbed out of the car and followed the trail. She ignored the wayward branches that tugged at her suit skirt and her hair. Sweat beaded down her back, but she didn’t care. Ray kept close behind her and from his tense stance, she knew he had his hand on his pistol.

Dense foliage surrounded them on every side. After ten minutes of hiking, Mabel was beginning to wonder if she had planned this excursion poorly. But it proved to be of little consequence as the pair rounded a bend that opened up into a small clearing.

It was cramped, the woods only a few feet from the walls of the shack. The canopy above them had barely thinned enough to let a few fleeting rays of sunlight through the layers of leaves. A chorus of cicadas started as the hour dipped into evening.

Mabel pulled her gun from its holster at the small of her back, flicking off the safety as she crept closer. From a peek in the old, cloudy windows, the shack seemed empty. But she knew, in this line of work, it was better safe than sorry. Indicating the door, Mabel signaled to Ray.

They burst through the decaying wood like the well-oiled team they were, arms leveled as they efficiently scanned the dank space. Aside from a few dilapidated pieces of furniture, the shack was empty. No signs of life or even a ghost. Mabel relaxed her stance as she investigated further while Ray stayed on high alert to watch her back.

Cobwebs decorated the rafters, dust bunnies hid in every corner, and the floor was covered in…

Blood. And chalk.

Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. Taking calm, even breaths, Mabel examined the figure on the floor. A circle, embellished with intricate symbols and arcane language. Candles melted down the stubs were positioned at the corners of inlaid, geometric patterns. A sudden waft of sulfur on the musty air made her cringe.

Demons.

Ever-lovin’ demons.

Shit.


	15. The Cool Dudes Are There For You When Shit Goes Down

“This isn’t good.” Mabel muttered. The pentagram had been marred, and with her limited knowledge, she couldn’t identify the entity it was designed to summon.

“What is it?” Ray asked.

“It’s a summoning circle.”

“For a demon?”

“What else would it be for!?!” Mabel snapped. She sighed, counting to ten to calm herself. Ray’s skepticism was merited, but she needed him to be open minded at the moment.

“How do you know?”

“My brother was a self-proclaimed paranormal expert. He liked to keep track of things like this, filling notebooks and journals with his ‘research’ almost twenty-four seven.”

A light seemed to dawn in Ray’s eyes, “That’s how you knew why Robbie had the salt.”

She nodded.

“So what does this mean?”

“I think it means Robbie is innocent.” She said hesitantly. A second later, something clicked in her brain, “And if I’m right, I believe this has something to do with the homicides. Let’s take some samples back to the precinct.”

Bustling about the shack, she instructed Ray to take pictures with her phone while she gathered dust, dried blood, and candle wax into baggies. Darkness was gathering by the time they finished, the woods outside obscuring the dying sunset. Mabel shivered, a chill racing down her spine.

It felt like someone was watching her.

Unconsciously, memories bloomed to life. The world fading to greyscale around her. Deer teeth. Manic laughter.

“Let’s go.” She told Ray, glad that her voice didn’t waver and betray her fear. He nodded and they hastily made their way back to the car. The cooling, summer night making the return trip quicker.

“Be ready to go at eight in the morning,” she told Ray as they walked to their hotel rooms, “We’re starting back at square one.”

He nodded and bid her goodnight.

But Mabel bypassed her room, instead finding a secluded spot with a bench outside. The parking lot lights buzzed overhead accompanied by sound of nocturnal insects. Pulling her cellphone out of her pocket, it glowed blue as she dialed a familiar number. The call finally connected only seconds before the automated messaging system would have interceded.

“Mabes! How’s it been, dude!”

“Wendy! Things have been going alright. How about you?”

“Oh you know, same old.”

Mabel scoffed, “Say’s the park ranger and supernatural conservationist.”

“True. Normal for me is probably still considered weird.”

“’Probably’?”

Wendy laughed, her throaty chuckle that hadn’t changed since they were kids.

“Alright,” She launched into her story without any pauses. Mabel hummed along, not that Wendy needed the prompting for the next fifteen minutes, “And that was how I got a jackelope out of bear trap and stopped a werecat from eating my backpack at the same time.”

“All in a day’s work.” Mabel surmised. And it was for Wendy. After high school, the laid back redhead had gone to college to get a bachelors in forestry, graduated in two years, and immediately began working at Ochoco State Park near Gravity Falls. She functioned as the park’s consultant for logging and reforestation in addition to acting as a lead ranger. Only Mabel and a handful of others knew that she kept track of the magical species that inhabited the park in order to keep them safe and out of public eye. With the information she had gleaned from Dipper’s notes and her own experience, Wendy was brilliant at what she did.

“So what’s up?” Wendy asked, “No offense dude, but you don’t usually call without a reason.”

“It’s a case I’m working on.”

“Figured.”

“Yeah, I’m actually in Salem, Oregon for this one. I can’t give you any of the details, but I need a favor.”

“Anything for you, Mabes.”

Her willingness to help left a pit in Mabel’s stomach, “It’s about Robbie.” She grimaced, “He’s the lead suspect for a pretty serious crime. I have reason to believe he’s innocent, but he’s hiding something from me. And unless I can get some sort of alibi, there’s enough evidence to lock him up for a very long time.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Do you know anything that may help?”

Wendy was silent for a moment, obviously thinking. “Well,” she began slowly, “Last time he was in Gravity Falls, he took a call and he was being really private about it. So of course, I ‘happened’ to overhear his conversation. Find someone named Holler and you might find the alibi you’re looking for. But this is off the record, kay. I will deny everything.”

Mabel giggled, “Of course.”

“Man, Mabes.” Wendy sighed, “Sometimes I think the universe has something against you. You’re life has the nasty tendency to go to hell.”

Coming from anyone else, such a comment would be ill received. But Wendy had been one of her closest friends through everything that had happened. She understood. And she felt the effects of the Pines’ tragedies as well.

“You’re the toughest girl I’ve ever met.” Wendy said.

“Thanks Wendy. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Mabel ended the call. The day had been filled with too many emotional upheavals. It was time for a good night’s rest.


	16. We Break Free From Who We Were Before, But Some Things Remain

Mabel’s first stop the next morning was the forensics department. She had a bad feeling that Argent was planning to forgo his other work in order to analyze the dust bunnies from the shack, he was so excited. The scientist couldn’t seem to sit still as she described the environment in which the samples were taken. His eyes were practically shining behind his thick glasses. After all, he _had_ analyzed Robbie’s sweatshirt in less than three hours the day before.

For someone so sweet and innocent, he practically shooed Mabel and Ray out of the lab.

“Detective Pines. Detective Clark. Good morning.” Madison Archer greeted them as they arrived back at the main hub of SPD, “What are your plans for today.”

“We’re looking for someone specific today.” Mabel answered. It was going out on a limb, but she decided it was worth a shot, “Do you know of anyone that goes by the name ‘Holler’?”

Ignoring the surprised glance from Ray, Mabel watched Madison. Her sharp features morphed into that of recognition, “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s not a very common name, and in this case it’s actually a _nom de plume_. Here, follow me.”

The young officer led them back to the records room. Deftly, she flipped through files, finding the ones she was looking for after only a few minutes. Madison handed a stack to Mabel as she explained, “Most of the incidents occur on college campuses, if only because that is where misuse of drugs is more commonly reported. Recently, the police have been finding students high on this really weird crap with all sorts of funny side effects. They call it ‘Holler’s Mix’. None of the students know who Holler is, so he’s not the seller. Unfortunately, we haven’t had any luck finding the seller either.”

Mabel flipped through photos of kids, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-three, with their clothing rumpled and heavy bags under their eyes. Sleeping in a cell was not glamorous, she knew from experience. And she didn’t plan on doing it again.

“Can we talk to these students?” She asked.

Madison tilted her head thoughtfully, “Probably. Enough of them are on campus during the summer, either for classes or work. Since it’s for the homicide case, I bet Rudick will put a warrant through for you pretty quick, so the registrar’s office will cooperate.”

“Let’s do it then.”

By the time they had finished lunch, Mabel and Ray had all the paperwork necessary for their excursion. Officer Archer had given them directions to the campus of Willamette University. The main office was easily able to identify the students that remained on campus and offered ideas of where to find them.

“What do you want?” A surly twenty-year-old they’d tracked down on the main quad mumbled. His eyes were shifting side to side, looking for a way out of the impromptu interrogation.

“I’m a SPD detective. I just have a few questions.” Mabel said as soothingly as possible, “I’m not here to get you in trouble.”

“It’s not like I’ve done anything.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me the last time you saw this man?” she held up a picture of Robbie.

The kid’s eyes lit in recognition, but still he shook his head, “I have no idea who that is.”

“Alright then,” she moved on, “Have you ever head of ‘Holler’s Mix’?”

“Yeah.” He said with some trepidation, “Most everyone on campus has.”

“How come?”

The kid pursed his lips, “Will I be in trouble if I tell you?”

“No. In fact, I’d be willing to ignore the fact that you lied to me earlier if you told me.”

The kid flashed her a scowl, but it was quelled, likely by Ray’s glare from behind her, “Holler’s Mix is infamous. They say that campus is one of the only places you can get it. I knew a guy that did it once and spent the whole evening floating around like he was in one of Gideon Gleeful’s magic shows. Another guy took some and woke up the next morning to find he’d done all his work for his online class, perfect scores on every assignment. I’d say it was bullshit if I hadn’t seen one of my friends shrink for a full two hours after getting his hands on some.”

Mabel nodded.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do. Does that surprise you?”

The kid shrugged, “I guess.”

Mabel smiled at him, “Well, you have a good day now. Stay out of trouble.”

Surprise flickered across his face, “You’re not going to, I don’t know, arrest me or something.”

“Do you want us to?” Ray queried over Mabel’s shoulder.

“No. I’m good.” He hurried off in the opposite direction.

Mabel typed a few notes into her phone before she was interrupted by a nudge from Ray, “A student on our list just came out of that building on your two ‘o clock.”

She glanced up, to see the young girl walking down the steps of a lecture hall. With brisk steps, Mabel crossed the quad and intercepted the student.

“Hey, do you have a moment?” Mabel queried.

The short girl took in both Mabel and Ray, noting their professional suits. A grim look crossed her face, but she responded, “Sure, what can I do for you?”

“I have a friend who’s in some trouble, but I can’t find him. I figured if I tracked down where he’d been I’d have more luck. Does this guy look familiar to you?” she handed her the picture of Robbie.

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

The girl squinted at Mabel, “You’re a detective aren’t you?”

Mabel nodded, “Yes I am.”

“So you could get me and my friends in trouble with the police if you wanted.”

“Lucky for you, I don’t want to.”

The girl was silent for a moment before she took a deep breath and began talking, “This guy,” She held up the photo, “Was on campus three nights ago. That was the last time I saw him. In case you didn’t know, your ‘friend’ sells drugs.”

“Holler’s Mix.”

“Yeah.” The girl blinked, “If you already knew that, why were you asking?”

“I needed to make sure he wasn’t off murdering people instead.” Mabel offered in a joking tone. The girl, however, was not fooled.

“I’d be willing to testify if he needed it.” She said grudgingly, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guy’s a douche. But no one deserves to be sentenced for something they didn’t do.”

“That’s very honorable of you.” Mabel smiled, “What’s your name?”

“Jordi Rivers.” The girl offered her hand, “I can give you my cell number too if that helps.”

Mabel shook Jordi’s hand before taking the girl’s number down in her cell phone. Practiced thumbs tapped the ten-digit number on the keypad in seconds.

“If we need anything else, we will contact you.”

Jordi nodded, waving goodbye as she traversed the sidewalks awash with summer sunlight. Ray watched her go, mumbling to Mabel, “I swear, you have the luck of the devil. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that cooperative in all my years on the police force.”

Typing a few more notes, Mabel responded, “It’s my charm. People just can’t resist.”

Ray opened his mouth to retort, but someone else beat him to it, “That’s definitely it.”

Mabel’s head snapped up at the familiar, snooty tone.

Pacifica Northwest, in all her bleach-blonde glory, stood on the steps of the lecture hall.

“And I say that from personal experience.” She smirked at Mabel.

“Pacifica!” Mabel practically launched herself at the other woman, all her detective decorum forgotten in the presence of her friend, “Oh my gosh, it’s been forever!”

“Mabel!” Pacifica gasped, “You’re going to break my ribs.”

“Sorry!” she said, but her tone was obviously unapologetic. Mabel let go only enough to lean back and stare at her friend, “What are you doing here.”

Pacifica arched an elegant eyebrow, “I think that’s supposed to be _my_ question. _I_ work here.”

“Oh yeah.”

Ray cleared his throat, petitioning for acknowledgement and clarification.

“Who’s your friend, Mabel?” Pacifica queried, analyzing the tall man.

“This is my partner, Raymond Clark. Ray, this is Pacifica Northwest, she’s an assistant professor of sociology here at Willamette. We’re here because we’re working a case here in Salem.”

“Of course,” Pacifica scoffed, “You’ll come for work, but never just to see your friend. Last time I saw you was my celebration for finishing graduate school. That was what? Three years ago!”

“I’m sorry!” Mabel squeaked, “Please forgive me.”

Pacifica sighed, “I guess I can, if you promise to buy me a latte when we meet up later.” She smiled mischievously, “Five. City Lights Café. Or no apologies. I have to go give a lecture now.”

“Sure!”

“See you later, Mabel. And good luck with the case.” Pacifica winked in Ray’s direction before slipping through the doors of the lecture hall.

To hide the way his ears heated, Ray turned away and grumbled, “I think we’re done here.”

Mabel’s grin practically split her face.


	17. If I Were A Villain, What Would I Do

Beckett Miller caught the pair of detectives on their way through the front doors, a grin on his wrinkled face.

“Good news I hope.” Mabel said with a grin of her own.

“Very good,” he chuckled, “And very interesting. It’s difficult to believe that I hadn’t already noticed.”

They found a bench in a secluded corner, settling down before the elderly man began talking.

“My sincerest apologies for the wait, Detective Pines. Whoever committed these crimes was very clever about it.”

“I asked just yesterday!” Mabel assured him, “You’re more than amazing, Bekett.”

“Thank you.” The old man bobbed his head and ran a hand though his thinning hair, “Now, similar to how the first few murders were carefully executed, as was the extraction. Which is why the investigators didn’t notice anything until this last murder. The perpetrator is, in fact…”

Mabel interrupted him, “He’s harvesting human body parts, isn’t he?”

Beckett nodded, “You guessed correctly. It’s amazing really. The perpetrator is gathering stem cells from each victim. So far, he’s collected a variety of progenitor cells that can produce nearly ninety percent of human tissues. For example, his most recent victim no doubt provided skin stem cells for the integumentary system.”

Ray had caught on, “The dismembered victim would have provided easy access to the marrow stem cells which produce red and white blood cells.”

“And gut stem cells from the impaled victim could produce the gastrointestinal tract cells.” Mabel added.

“I’m guessing he took spinal column stem cells from his first victim to produce the nervous system. So forth and so on.” Beckett agreed, “The only problem is why he’s used so many victims to do this. Ideally, if one individual is a match, you would only want to harvest from them. With this many people, you mess with the chances of antibodies and rejection. If the perpetrator is smart enough to know about stem cells, then he should also know about immune response.”

Mabel tapped her chin thoughtfully, “I’ve already seen the files. All of the victims have different blood types, which means the perpetrator is already violating the ‘single recipient’ theory. Maybe he is gathering stem cells for more than one person. Beckett, do you know if stem cells could be sold on the black market?”

The old man shrugged, “To be completely honest, Detective Pines, I don’t know a lot about the black market. But if it were me, and that was my motivation, I wouldn’t stop at a measly sample of cells. If I went to the effort to kill a guy, I’d take everything I could. And there wouldn’t be enough left for the police to sniff out, much less enough to make them start dogging my footsteps.”

Mabel noticed Ray shiver at Beckett’s admission. But the coroner had a point. Unless the perpetrator had access to an advanced biological lab, there wasn’t much than could be done with a few stem cells.

Her brain whirred as she thanked the old man. “Let me know if you think of anything, Beckett.” She added, “I highly value your input and expertise on this subject.”

“If I don’t wind up with more dead bodies,” Beckett grinned, “I’ll look into the potential uses for what the murder has so far.”

Ray nodded, “If we know what he can do with the cells, we may be able to figure out where he’s taking them.”

Meeting adjourned, Mabel and Ray watched as the old man hit call light for the elevator and disappeared down to his morgue.

“That was enlightening,” Ray admitted, “Beckett certainly came through. But we still have the matter of what you want to do with the info we found at Willamette.”

Mabel tapped her chin, thinking. “Tell me, Ray. Has Detective Werner seemed preoccupied to you as of late?”

Ray scowled. Just mentioning the rude detective seemed to put him in a bad mood. “No,” his voice was taught, “But I don’t really care.”

“Maybe a new case would put him in a better mood.”

“Maybe.”

Mabel smiled, “How should I do this?”

“He wouldn’t be very happy if you simply asked him. He’d probably assume you were bossing him around.” Ray agreed.

“Yep! We’ll have to make him think it was _his_ idea. Let’s go!”

Mabel sprang off the bench, Ray following like he had for the past few months. He didn’t mind. Honestly, it was hard to imagine the day when he would be a fully-fledged detective – when he would be on his own. But that day wasn’t today. Ray could worry about that when he got there.

 


	18. I Am Frequently Outrageous, But I Don’t Lack Subtlety

“Detective Werner? Chris? Hey!”

Mabel had found the man she was looking for, though he had somehow fallen asleep at his desk amidst the mid-afternoon hullaballoo. She knew Chris hadn’t been exactly busy with work since she’d shown up, so this nap must be the result of sheer boredom.

She shook Chris awake, ignoring the tiny bit of drool at the corner of his mouth and his bleary eyes. She needed to make this request quickly, before he was conscious enough to get mad.

“Do you think you could help me out? Ray isn’t feeling well, so he went back to the hotel for the afternoon. I need a secondary in order to hold another interview with Mr. Robert Valentino.”

“Why does it have to be me?” The man groaned.

Mabel handed the detective a coffee, “Because my questions concern the homicide case, and you’re one of the most knowledgeable people on the force concerning that case.”

“Fine, I’ll help you out.” Chris grunted, heaving himself up and taking a sip of the coffee, “I just got my second wind anyway. Let’s go, Detective Hot Shot.”

Mabel grinned behind his back, allowing Chris to lead the way so he felt like he was in charge. This was going to be easy.

Officer Archer already had Robbie in the interrogation room. Mabel could feel his sullen frustration -emanate through the one-way glass. He looked even more ragged than usual, without his ever-present hoodie and his eye-liner smeared, his obvious exhaustion was starting to rival Dipper’s. Mabel felt a twinge of pity mixed with guilt. This was technically her fault, but she wouldn’t have to do this if he would just tell the truth. Luckily, she felt like she was wearing him down to the point where he would be willing to cooperate. Robbie wouldn’t be behind bars much longer.

Chris strode into the room, not even bothering to pause and ask Mabel what the game-plan was going to be. But that was fine. She could tolerate him for just a bit longer, then she could get him out of the way. And it would save her a lot of work.

“Hey again, Robbie!” She chirped, entering closely on Chris’s heels. She needed to take control of the questioning before Chris did or none of the interrogation would go in the right direction.

“What do you want, Pines?” Robbie growled. “This is the third damn time you’ve interrogated me since I’ve been here. I’ve already told you everything. Just let me leave. It was just a bar brawl. Happens all the time.”

“You haven’t told me everything, Robbie.” Mabel’s voice lost none of its cheer, “And I’ve already told you, this isn’t about the fight anymore, it’s about the murder. But I think we’re getting close to the truth. I just need your cooperation.”

Robbie crossed his arms, “I’ll tell you what I’m willing to tell you.”

“Where were you three nights ago?”

“You already know. I was at my apartment. It was my night off.”

“What ‘odd jobs’ do you work?”

“Why do you need to know, brat?”

“Would you rather be convicted of murder, Robbie?” Mabel asked, her voice raised just slightly above its usual volume.

“No.” Robbie huffed, his long bangs fell into his eyes. “And don’t call me ‘Robbie’.”

“Don’t call me ‘brat’, then.” Mabel answered with equal heat. “It’s Detective Pines. And this is Detective Werner. I would expect you to show us some respect considering that we’re the ones who are going to make sure you don’t go to jail for the rest of your life.”

“How so?” Robbie asked, peering at her through a curtain of inky hair.

“I found an alibi for you. Three nights ago, you were on the Willamette University campus, selling drugs.”

Robbie didn’t do a good job of hiding his sharp intake of breath. Jordi Rivers had been telling the truth. The only one who had done so since she started this investigation. It was time to capitalize on it.

“We’ve found trace amounts of organic material on your sweatshirt to corroborate the account. What kind of drugs do you sell?”

“I sell magazine subscriptions on campus, not drugs.” Robbie’s excuse began. But Chris finally took his unspoken cue to step in.

“Holler’s mix.”

You didn’t need to be the best interrogator in the precinct to know that the way Robbie stiffened and froze was as good as a confession. Chris smirked. Mabel smirked even harder from behind him. Finally.

“We are willing to exchange information for your release with minimal consequences,” Mabel said, “We want the identity of the man who makes Holler’s mix. The SPD has been after him for quite some time. You give us that. And then you can go.”

Robbie’s gaze met Mabel’s, full on. His dark eyes were full of a mess of emotions: bitterness, resignation, relief, gratitude, and wonder. He hadn’t seen her for so long. He had no idea how much she had grown up. Mabel’s parents hadn’t allowed her to go back to Gravity Falls after they lost Dipper. Grunkle Stan never blamed them. The only reason she made it to her great uncle’s funeral was because her parents had moved away and she never told them he’d died.

Chris took notes as Robbie finally talked, his voice subdued. But for the first time he was open and honest. Mabel was happy for him. The punk rocker may not be the most likable person, but he had gone through some stuff. Even as a kid, Mabel had been able to see that all he needed was help and attention.

Robbie hadn’t taken the best path when he moved to Salem, but now he would be given another start. Not a fresh one. But a new one.

Mabel thought about the prospect of keeping tabs on Robbie through Wendy. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was the best she could do. Seeing Robbie so down and defeated didn’t sit well with her. Blank faces. Far away expressions. Lost connections. No, it didn’t sit well with her at all.

So preoccupied with her thoughts, she almost missed it when Chris got up to leave. She followed the detective out while Officer Archer chaperoned Robbie back to his cell. Outside of the empty interrogation room, Chris was almost bouncing on his toes. A power nap, caffeine, and a new case apparently did wonders for his mood. He was chattering excitedly about all the leads this new information provided him.

“I’m going to go get started. Later, Detective Hot Shot.”

“Wait!” Mabel tinted her tone with worry, “Do you think you could keep me posted on your progress. I’d like to know how Robbie’s release is going and also about Holler’s supplier.”

For once, Detective Werner smiled in her direction, a good-natured one. “I guess.”

“Thank you!”

As the Detective walked away, Mabel couldn’t contain her triumphant grin. That had been so easy.


	19. I Do Everything Right The First Time, Except When I Don’t

“I’ll take a dirty chai latte with whipped cream on top.” Pacifica told the barista.

Behind her, Mabel grumbled, “Do you want to add anything else to that? I’d better not spend less than ten dollars on your drink.”

Pacifica smirked in the face of Mabel’s sarcasm, “You didn’t think I’d be letting you off the hook that easy, did you?”

“No.” Mabel added a blackberry Izzy to the order before paying the barista the full amount due. When Pacifica’s drink was ready and the two women found a table in the corner of the café. Pacifica gracefully took a seat, crossing her legs as she fussed with her tasteful outfit that very much fit the bill for a burgeoning university professor.

Mabel didn’t really care that her suit jacket and skirt were bland by comparison, but snuggling in the cozy little coffee shop reminded her how much she missed sweaters.

“So how’s life?” Mabel asked, popping the cap off her soda.

Pacifica took a tentative sip of her coffee and shot Mabel a bland look over the topping of cream, “Can you be any more cliché?”

“What?” Mabel whined, “It’s a perfectly justified question.”

“I’m just saying it’s standard. Boring. I thought you were better than that, Mabel?”

Mabel blew a raspberry, “Fine.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “How’s your love life?”

Pacifica laughed, a sound so free of constraint, it made Mabel smile. While Mabel had been struggling with losing her brother, Pacifica had been forcing her way out of her parent’s oppressive hold. It was good to know that she was past those trials. Mabel wished the same could be said for herself.

“I was worried being a cop would mellow you out, Mabel.” Pacifica managed between giggles, “It seems that my concern was unnecessary.”

“Your faith in me is absolutely astounding.”

“To answer both your questions,” Pacifica began, “Things have been going really well for me. I love the classes I’m teaching. I recently got my own research project that’s been keeping my busy, but in a good way. I’ve made some friends among my colleagues. If you must know, I’ve dated off and on, but no one’s really fit the bill, you know?”

Mabel studied the smile on Pacifica’s face, easy and honest. She was immensely happy for her friend. She propped her chin on her hand as she said suggestively, “And Ray? It seemed that you liked what you saw.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes, “He’s handsome. But I don’t really know him. Let’s change the subject. How about you, Mabel? How have you been?”

Letting Pacifica have her way, Mabel responded, “Being a detective is great! It’s a lot of work at weird hours, but spontaneity is definitely up my alley.”

“I had no idea.”

The two were quiet for a while, sipping their drinks. The murmur of background noise in the café washed over Mabel. Pacifica looked right at home among the numerous patrons, preoccupied with their laptops, books, and paperwork. A studious atmosphere.

“So how is your case going?” Pacifica asked.

Mabel made a face, “It’s stumping Ray and me at every turn. There are clues that might not be clues at all. But with so many old incidents, it’s difficult to determine if they’re connected. There are absolutely no witnesses. And get this, our only suspect claims that a dead person is responsible.”

Pacifica looked confused.

“I trust you to keep this to yourself, but Robbie Valentino says that he recently saw my brother.”

Silence, Mabel expected from Pacifica, but not the startled look in her eyes. It was the perfect picture of ‘deer in the headlights’. A second later, even that was gone without a trace.

“Robbie has always been a little screwy.” Pacifica kept her tone even and took another sip of her drink.

Mabel’s brow furrowed at the odd response, but Pacifica didn’t give her long to think about it.

“Anyway, how are your parents?”

Unsure whether or not she should entertain the tangent, Mabel bought herself a moment by taking a gulp of her soda. The carbonation made her nose tickle as she swallowed. She filed Pacifica’s reaction away for later.

“They’re doing well. You probably didn’t know this, but after I moved out, they decided that the house was too big for just the two of them. They relocated, down to Florida, since they were both retired anyway.”

Pacifica frowned, “They left you all alone in California?”

Mabel shrugged. Her parents’ decision hadn’t really surprised her at the time. They wanted to move on. To leave behind all the evidence of their missing child. It was the same reason they had gone to the effort of declaring Dipper dead before seven years had passed.

“What about yours?” Mabel asked.

Pacifica scoffed, “Well after they disinherited me in an attempt to get me to quit college, I stopped talking to them. So I don’t have a clue as to how they’re doing!”

Mabel snorted at the typical Pacifica response. With all the ease experienced between old friends, the two continued to talk even as evening fell, the sun sitting low as it glowed with ruby reds and tangerine oranges. Pacifica glanced at her watch before shooting Mabel an apologetic glance.

“This has been tons of fun, Mabel, but I should probably get going. I still have some papers that I need to grade tonight.” She stood up dropping her paper cup into a nearby recycling bin, “Let me know if there’s another time that works for you. I want to see you before you leave town!”

“Sure! I’ll text you.”

“Good.” Pacifica’s tone was smug. “Keep working hard.”

“Always. Bye, Pacifica!”

The blonde woman pushed through the door of the café, the bell chiming as she departed. Mabel finished off the last of her soda before following her example.

Out on the street, the rush hour traffic had since diminished to a steady flow of cars that whipped past on their way to who-knows-where. She had told Ray she would catch a bus that ran from the café to a stop only a few blocks of the hotel, but after feeling the coolness of the early night air, she opted to walk instead. The path was well-lit by downtown lights as it cut through the densest part of Salem.

An inexplicable feeling of butterflies fluttered in her stomach: excitement or anticipation she couldn’t place. Her head felt like it was swelling, filled with half-resolved memories. They were washed out or black and white, but enveloped in an emotion that felt like a tight hug. Like a sibling’s unconditional affection.

Her heart dropped into her stomach as a figure caught the corner of her eye.

She must have imagined that.

Suddenly focused, she scanned the other side of the street. Traffic sped through the intersection. And there on the opposite curve, a man watched her, his expression strangely blank. The contest of wills stretched on as they stared until it clicked in Mabel’s mind.

He looked like Dipper.

A low electronic tone sounded from the traffic light, the white ‘walk’ symbol illuminating on the pole. In that instant, the man turned away, braking into a hurried stride in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” Mabel called, panic rising in her chest.

The countdown had begun. Mabel’s legs finally deciding to cooperate as it hit three.

“Come back!”

Two flashed.

“Dipper!”

One.

She sprinted over the white stripes of the crosswalk, the calamitous chorus of car horns began as the light changed and she was still in the way. But she paid them no mind, eyes locked on the retreating back and bobbing brown hair that wove through the sparse pedestrians.

Mabel added another burst of speed without watching where she was going, which proved to be her downfall. Literally. Her foot caught on the curb, pitching her whole body off balance. The last thing she saw of the mysterious individual was his slim figure ducking into an alleyway.

She threw out her hand to break her fall and winced as it braised on the coarse cement. But that was nothing in comparison to the crack and tearing feeling that traveled up her wrist. Her plunge didn’t stop there. Inertia carried her forward, causing her head to collide with the cement with a sickening thump.

Mabel cursed as her vision darkened. But despite her best efforts, consciousness deserted her. The void opening to swallow her whole.


	20. Most People Solve Problems Subconsciously, My Subconscious Just Makes More

She found herself in a room, bathed completely in red. The tiled floor with a checkered white and black pattern, offset the scarlet curtains. A glance down, and she realized she was sitting in a plush, pinstriped chair. The standard suit she wore was reminiscent of her detective attire, but it was perfectly black and white, lacking her usual accent of a brightly colored tie.

Her vision swayed, and without the sensation of turning her head, she was gazing across the room at another pair of matching chairs.

One was occupied by a golden triangle with a top hat, bow tie, and cane.

The other by a man.

She didn’t have a chance to observe further before the triangle began to speak. It didn’t have a mouth, but its voice reverberated about the room, high and strident.

The strange creature told her that sweaters were going back into style and didn’t his cousin look exactly like Dipper Pines?

Which he did.

She felt secrets feathering under the triangle’s voice he continued. He said that where he was he was from the birds sang pretty songs and that there was always music in the air. He did a little dance, jauntily, in the air above his seat.

The red room flickered. From far away she heard someone call her name. Her vision blurred, as if clouded by tears. And she couldn’t focus. Straining against the pull of something invisible, she tried to locate the two chairs.

Her eyes snapped open. Her breath came in gasps. Her skin prickled.

A nightmare.

She fisted the blankets of the bed she was in, wincing as a sharp pain lanced up her left arm. Feeling dizzy, she took in her surroundings, white on white. The perfectly bleached smell of a hospital made her sigh with frustration. How had she gotten here?

“Mabel.”

The low, steady voice called her name again and she glance up to see Ray in a chair. His lips quirked up in a smile, likely the product of relief as worry pinched his face.

“What happened?” She croaked, her throat dry.

He shook his head, “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but the pedestrian that called for the ambulance said that he saw you fall and hit your head on the street. The doctor said you have a minor concussion and a sprained wrist. She wants to keep you under observation for the night. ”

Her memory was fuzzy, but she had the distinct impression that something had been lost. Again.

“I must have tripped.” She shrugged it off, if only for Ray’s sake.

“That’s very atypical of you.” Ray said with a frown.

“It happens to the best of us.” She assured him.

With uncanny timeliness, the doctor arrived, repeating many of the same things Ray had just covered, albeit in more technical terms. She informed Mabel that her prognosis was good, but the brace needed to be worn on her wrist at all times for the next two weeks.

“The nurse will be in and out for the rest of the night to check your cognitive function and sensory reflex, just to play it safe. We want to be completely positive that nothing extraordinarily traumatic occurred during your fall. However, that little bit of retrograde amnesia your experiencing is not outside the bounds of normal.”

“Thank you doctor.” Ray said as the physician departed.

“See,” Mabel smiled at him, “I’ll be fine. Go back to the hotel. Get lots of sleep. We can get back on track tomorrow, and put this little hiccup behind us.”

“Little hiccup?” Ray glared, “Is that what you call this.” He gestured to the sterile room, mechanical bed, and her gown clothed body, “I thought you said you were taking a bus back to the hotel. I didn’t expect you to go wandering around downtown, at night, probably chasing after some criminal. And then I got that call…”

Mabel cut him off with a look.

“I appreciate your concern, Raymond.” Her tone was stern, “But you are not my father. And I will not live my life by your schedule just because I’m in another city. I can take care of myself. I probably didn’t change my plans without a good reason. So just chill.”

He was silent for a minute before he muttered, “I don’t like not knowing why though.”

“There are a lot of things we don’t know.”

Ray pursed his lips.

“Go back to the hotel.” Mabel repeated, “Get lots of sleep.”

“You do the same.” Ray sighed, “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Settling back into her pillows as the door shut behind Ray, Mabel sighed as well. She understood Ray’s frustration. She was just as frustrated. But there was no real point in getting worked up about it. As nice as it would be to know what had happened – what she might have discovered – if her brain wouldn’t supply it, there was no way of knowing. There was a chance that her memory would gradually come back. Mabel certainly hoped it would.

She plucked the TV remote off her bedside table, absently flicking through channels. The nurse came in to check on her an hour later. And finally, sleep began to tug at her mind.

But like she’d swallowed the pit in a Pitt Cola, a cold weight had settled at the bottom of her stomach. When she closed her eyes the only color she saw was red. When she closed her eyes she only heard a thin, pitched voice. And when she closed her eyes she only felt her suit sift across the surface of her skin, not the hospital gown. But the memories of the nightmare she’d been having just before she woke up were just as elusive as her memories of what happened just before her fall.

She tossed and turned the whole night.


	21. Winds And Windfalls

Mabel wasn’t usually one to be sleep deprived. Over-thinking things wasn’t her style. Today was the exception.

She was tired, sore, and irritable by the time Ray had arrived and the paperwork had been filed for her discharge. The hour was nearing noon, and while she was concerned she wouldn’t get much investigating done she also knew she wasn’t exactly feeling up to it.

Her head throbbed, low and dull. She gladly accepted the painkillers the nurse handed her along with her belongings. While adjusting her hot pink tie in the mirror, she noticed the crosshatch of cuts where her forehead had met cement, embellished with a molted, green bruise. Her wrist was an ugly bulge under her suit jacket sleeve. Frowning, she tugged the cuff lower over the splint.

“Ready?” Ray asked upon her emergence from the bathroom.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. She needed to get her head back on straight.

Ray seemed to sense her dilemma. “We can take a rest day if you’d like, to think over what we’ve learned. I just came from the precinct. Chris has been making a big deal about his new case, but he hasn’t located Holler yet.” Grudgingly, Ray added, “He’s working hard, but these things take time.”

Mabel squinted against the midday sunlight as they left the hospital, Ray leading the way to the car. “That sounds good. It’d like to review the evidence, that way I can make sure I didn’t forget anything about the case.”

“Hopefully your amnesia isn’t too extensive. Though it wouldn’t be bad to have a fresh perspective.”

“Agreed.”

Ray shot her a pensive look as he started the car.

“What?” Mabel asked.

“Don’t get mad at me for saying this,” he began slowly, “But are you sure this case isn’t too tied up in your personal history? You’ve got a suspect that used to be an acquaintance of yours. You’ve run into old friends and enemies. I still don’t know where you got the information about Holler. Not to mention the thing with your brother.”

Mabel took another deep breath, thinking it through. Ray was right. It was like her past had decided to dog her every footstep for the past week. Robbie, Gideon, Wendy, Pacifica, and… Dipper.

Her brother’s face, smiling in her memories as he described his latest conspiracy theory. His eyes alight with excitement and wonder as the supernatural world was opened up to him through Journal 3. His hand in hers, tugging her along, keeping her close, as they adventured through the woods.

What would it have been like to grow up with him? Would he have graduated top of his class? What would be his major in college? Would he come out of his shell enough to get a girlfriend? If he was still around, would they both have families? And kids? Would their mom and dad still have moved away? Would Grunkle Stan still have passed away early from the ache in his heart of failing not one twin, but two?

In that life, maybe Dipper would be the detective and she’d be an art teacher or a photographer. She’d still be that exuberant child, just with a bigger, womanly body. She’d dye her hair bubblegum pink or aquamarine blue. She’d still carry stickers for every occasion. She’d wear sweaters instead of suits.

But that was neither here nor there. She couldn’t change the way things were. She needed to keep moving forward and make the best of what she had. She learned, after Dipper disappeared, to cherish what she had, because there was no certainty that you would still have it the next day.

 Mabel didn’t realize how quiet she’d been – how long she’d been thinking – till Ray pulled the car into the parking lot at the police station. He parked, turned off the car, and sat simply sat there, still waiting for an answer. His grey eyes were filled with empathy, but his face was set in stone.

Sometimes, things happened that people couldn’t just get over. And that was okay.

“I’ll be fine,” She told Ray. Her patented smile was back in place. She’d angsted enough for the day – for the rest of the month, actually. “Every flower must grow through dirt, after all.”

Ray smiled in return.

“Now let’s get to work!” She announced, none of her cheer forced, “I might be an invalid, but that doesn’t mean I’m useless!”


	22. That Moment When Everything And Nothing Makes Sense

Madison set up the corner office they’d used when the first arrived in Salem. She insisted in carrying everything, snatching the file box from Mabel when she’d tried to help. She, with Ray’s help, arranged the evidence they’d gathered while Mabel stood by and watched.

“Are you going to stick around and solve the case for me too?” Mabel teased the blonde officer.

Madison shook her head, pieces of her pony tail catching in her industrial earring, “Sorry, Detective, not today. Tyrone called off work last night – said he was feeling ill – so I have to have to pick up his slack today.”

Mabel hummed, “That’s right. I don’t remember seeing him yesterday.”

Madison shot her a concerned look, “I heard about what happened.”

“I can tell.”

“Are you doing alright?”

“Just fine.” Mabel assured her, “Or as fine as I can be with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Prescription drugs are wonderful things when used appropriately.”

The young officer smiled.

“Good luck with the extra work.” Mabel said as she sat down. Madison shut the door as she left, isolating Mabel in her partner in the quiet cubicle.

“Nothing new has come up since last night.” Ray informed her. He took the seat across from her and slid a thick folder across the desk. “These are all my notes if you want to cross-reference them with yours.”

“Thanks.”

Mabel open the reports, eyes flitting across the tiny text and classified information.

The first step was to ascertain whether or not there was one or multiple killers. The stack of eight cases sat to her left, and starting at the top of the pile, she began to read.

Male. Caucasian. Below the poverty line, but none of them homeless. Now that she noticed it, all the murders took place in a private living space, minimal chances of interruption. Besides the victims’ remains, the scenes were undisturbed, no forced entries, no sign of altercations, nothing stolen. She considered the map. What looked like a nonsense collection of dots solidified into two circles. Taking a red marker, she enclosed both clusters, centered around Willamette campus and Blue Moose Inc., with a five mile radius. Easy distances.

“Ray,” Mabel muttered, “Do you have transcripts for Detective Werner’s interviews with Robbie concerning the drug dealing.”

“Right here,” Ray answered, ready to hand her the documents he’d been reading.

“That’s fine.” Mabel held up her hand to indicate she didn’t need them, “I just wanted to know where he said he sold Holler’s Mix. The students on campus said that it was difficult to get elsewhere.”

Ray took a minute to scan before answering, “He said that he sold on campus due to popular demand. And he sold at the bar due to prior arrangements with the proprietor of Blue Moose Inc.”

 _‘For once, do something that doesn’t involve cash flow.’_ Mabel remembered Jekyll telling Robbie. Well that certainly made sense.

“Look at this.” She told Ray, sliding the map over to Ray.

His lips pursed, thoughtful.

“I think our killer might be using the drug dealing to find his victims.”

Ray nodded, “That’s why Robbie looked suspicious. He’s probably had at least some connection with all the victims.”

“Whatever is in Holler’s Mix was all over Robbie’s clothes and the crime scenes. The missing guitar strings and the salt were probably just a fluke. Unless the killer was purposely trying to set him up, but I think that’s a bit of a stretch. The evidence against him was a little _too_ circumstantial.”

“So you definitely think it’s just one killer?” Ray asked.

Mabel took a minute to answer, thinking it over one last time. “Definitely. The murders are consistent. I don’t think the difference in the manner in which they died is enough of a reason to think otherwise given that everything else matches up.”

“A lot of the time, the manner in which victims died is considered an MO.” Ray countered.

“I know.” Mabel agreed, “But just because that’s usually the case, doesn’t mean it’s always the case. We need to think outside the box this time.”

“This is about the shack, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You believe it belongs to or was used by our culprit.” Ray guessed.

“Yeah.”

“So Robbie has probably seen the killer.”

“What?” Mabel asked, her tone unintentionally sharp.

Ray looked distinctly uncomfortable. Mabel could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Valentino said that he followed someone to the shack. Someone who looked like your brother.”

“I told you, my brother is dead.”

“I know.” Ray said, somehow managing to make his tone both placating and matter-of-fact, “I just said he only _looked_ like your brother.”

Mabel hummed, thinking. “I guess that wouldn’t be too hard, all things considered. Aside from his birthmark, Dipper’s appearance wasn’t very distinctive: white male, brown hair, brown eyes, nondescript body type and clothing choices.”

“How visible of a birthmark are we talking?”

Mabel giggled, “It’s the source of his nickname, actually. He had a little constellation in the shape of the Big Dipper on his forehead.” She pointed to her own forehead, covered in abrasions, “He liked to keep it hidden, though. Usually by combing his bangs forward or wearing a hat.”

Ray smirked, “His real name must’ve been pretty embarrassing if he was willing to settle with a nickname like ‘Dipper’.”

Mabel tossed her partner a playful scowl, “Hey now.”

Ray just shrugged.

“Though, I guess you’re right. Out of all the teasing that got to him, it was never the jabs about his name. Usually he just hated it when people dismissed his theories, called him dumb, or called him weak.”

Ray nodded. “So the shack?” He prompted, moving on.

“Right,” Mabel turned back to the reports. “How much do you know about demon summoning?”

Ray looked skeptical again, “Very little.”

“Just hear me out,” Mabel insisted, “Beckett said that there’s not much that can be done with a few petri dishes of stem cells outside of a modern lab. But most demon summonings involve sacrifices.”

“In the movies, there’s usually a lot of blood, not a smattering of cells.” Ray defended.

Mabel wagged a finger at him, “Never underestimate demons. They are underhanded and tricky. They turn things on their heads. They can do virtually anything given the chance to exist on this plane.”

“Why does this sound like a personal experience, Mabel?” Ray queried, his eyes brows rising towards his hairline. “Have you summoned a demon before? You and your brother?”

“What? When we were twelve? Get a grip, Ray.” Mabel scoffed, her gut twisting instinctively at the lie, “My brother had a resource he used in his investigations – an old journal of a previous paranormal investigator.”

Ray seemed to relax a little.

“But this brings us to a new conclusion. Whoever this murderer is, they are intelligent, both humanly and supernaturally. There is no way to know specifically what a demon wants without summoning one first. And in order to survive a summoning, you gotta be good.”

Ray scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll look into the red light district here in Salem. Someone is bound to be well connected with the paranormal community, they might be able to tell us more that we don’t already know.” Mabel was thrilled to see him being serious about this, “Additionally, we’ll check the libraries and bookstores, to see if someone’s been researching this stuff. Or would it be better to check internet forums?”

Mabel smiled as Ray continued to write down his ideas. She knew these leads would take them in the right direction thanks to Deputy Chief Frederick. But it was nice to have her partner on board. Ray’s support was invaluable. It was getting hard to remember what it was like to do this job without him.

A face flashed in her mind and she had a sense of déjà vu. She’d been thinking about supporting one another. Like siblings. Mystery Twins. But she’d never seen Dipper as anything older than thirteen, so why did he look twenty-six?

She rested her head in her hands as it started to ache again. Ray looked up, noticing how pain scrunched her brow.

“What kind of juice do you want?” He asked, “I’ll get you something so you don’t need to dry-swallow your pills. That’s not good for you anyway. You’ll burn your esophagus.”

“Apple, if they have it.” Mabel muttered, “Thanks.”

The door shut quietly behind Ray. She let her eyes fall to the papers Beckett had given her on stem cells. The old coroner’s handwriting decorated the top margin, reading ‘I’ve highlighted my guess at the types of progenitor cells your killer has based on the victims’ injuries, but there’s no guarantee I’m right.’ Mabel smiled, thinking of the old man and how much he reminded her of Grunkle Stan. There were only a few items on the list that weren’t highlighted.

“How close are you to your goal?” She whispered, running her fingers over the notes. She felt like the answer was within reach, but at the same time, so so far.


	23. I Gather Momentum Like A Bowling Ball And Crash Three Times As Hard

Injuries always hurt the most two days after the incident.

Mabel, unfortunately, had a lot of experience in the injury department with her regularly physical position as a detective. But this was certainly the worst pain she’d ever pushed through.

She had woken up at four in the morning, her head full of bees – fuzzy with pain. Stinging sensations prickled over her scalp when she moved, so much so that she forgot about her wrist when she went to open her bottle of painkillers. Stifling a yelp, she bent over to pick up the scattered pills from the floor.

“Sweet Moses.” She muttered to herself, throwing back seven hundred and fifty milligrams of Vicodin and drowning them with her leftover apple juice.

She lay on the top of her bedcovers while she waited for the drugs to work through her system, head swallowed by the pillows. When the pounding in her cranium and the twinging in her wrist had abated, she started up the television and settled in for the long wait until continental breakfast was served at seven. Cartoons, their cheery colors and lighthearted jokes, filled the dark hotel room. But without a bowl of cold cereal in her lap and a brother leaning against her side, it felt empty.

Mabel sighed. Apparently this trip to Oregon made her destined to dwell on the past and a future that couldn’t be.

Promptly, at six fifty, Ray knocked on her door, rousing her from a shallow doze. Having already dressed, they were out the door and down to breakfast the moment the hotel staff finished setting up. Mabel and Ray loaded their plates with hot food and found a small, two-person table near the corner.

“How did you sleep?” Ray asked. There was no way he’d missed the bags under her eyes and the way her hair frizzed around the edges.

“As well as you’d expect.” Was her Spartan reply.

Ray’s brows scrunched in concern.

“I’ll make it, Ray.” Mabel shot him a smile. Patting her pocket so the painkillers rattled in their bottle, “I’ll just be taking one of these puppies every four hours. We’ve got work that needs to get done. I’d like to catch this guy before he kills again. Even if they’ve been spread out, that doesn’t give us an excuse to slack off.”

Ray nodded, “Are we going to start searching for leads in the red light district today?”

“Yep!”

Mabel scraped her plate clean of scrambled eggs and grabbed a cream cheese coated bagel for the road.

“Let’s go!” she chirped, giving Ray an expectant look.

The broad man looked down at his still full plate then back up at Mabel. Sighing, he shoveled as much food as he could down in thirty seconds into his mouth before disposing of his plate and snagging a yogurt to go.

“I’m not big enough to need a diet, Mabel.” He grumbled once he’d swallowed.

“Diets are inhumane anyway.” Mabel led the way to the car, “But I feel better when I’m moving.”

Ray didn’t object any further, strategically driving to the police station with one hand while polishing off his yogurt with the other. Mabel chewed on her bagel while thinking she couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

What was expected to be another morning reviewing evidence, didn’t turn out to be. The moment the pair entered the police station, the familiar face of Officer Ben Gillig greeted them, eyes solemn.

“Detective Pines.” He didn’t seem surprised to see her or the colorful marks on her head, “Rudick said you’d be getting here about now. There’s been another murder.”

Mabel almost dropped the rest of her bagel, “What?” her voice barely a whisper.

“Are you sure it’s one of ours?” Ray asked, echoing her disbelief, “All the other murders took place at least a month apart.”

Gillig nodded, “This makes nine.”

Nine.

Demons.

Pentagram.

Mabel’s head spun, positively accelerating with every second. Was it her fault? If she hadn’t been injured would she had made more headway? Would she have been able to solve the case before another person died?

“It’s brutal.” Gillig was saying, his mouth pressing into a thin line, “A friend of the victim reported it this morning. We were just about to head out to the scene. Detective Werner is too busy with the Holler case to do the initial investigations, and it’s your case anyway.”

“Let’s go.” Mabel whispered, with none of the fervor she’d had earlier this morning.

The trip to the scene took even longer than the first to the precinct that morning. An absent part of Mabel’s mind noted Blue Moose Inc. when they passed by.

She rubbed her forehead, circulating the dissipated blood in her bruise. The pain was a good wake up call. So another murder had happened. It wasn’t her fault. Only the fault of the lowlife that committed the crime. A fresh scene meant fresh evidence. She would handle the investigation, no matter how much pain she was in or how much her personal life seemed to worm its way in.

The squad cars plus Ray’s car pulled into the drive way of a small white house on a derelict street. Surprising Mabel, Gillig knocked at the shabby door, which was answered by a young man with hollowed eyes and shaggy stubble. Mabel and Ray shared a look. All the victims before had been isolated. Loners.

“Come in.” The young man prompted, opening the door more widely. The officers stepped inside the house. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a lingering stench of cigarettes and marijuana. Like every abode before, the carpets were threadbare, the wallpaper curling, the furniture encrusted with dust. The young man who’d let them in didn’t seem concerned with his surroundings.

“I got home from my nightshift this morning to find my housemate, Harold,” he swallowed, “in his room. Dead.”

Mabel wanted to see the body for herself. But the young man went on to explain the situation. He said that he, Harold, and two other men shared the house. The others had been gone when the incident had happened, still not back after drinking the night away. The young man – Darrel Masters – had been kicked out of his home for being gay. With nowhere else to go and no place to afford on his own, he’d taken a homeshare with the other middle-aged men, but all of them were more interested in drinking and illicit drugs. Darrel had been paying more than his fair share of the expenses for months, but at least his housemates never said anything about his preference in partners.

A homeshare. But beyond that, the MO hadn’t changed much. The victim was still unbelievably butchered, left behind in a mess of his own blood. 

Mabel watched her now familiar team of investigators bustle about as she filled reports. Alice Harding snapping photographs. Argent Advic eagerly dusting the room. Beckett Miller examining the body.

She felt the world pass by her in a whir of a drab, dirt-colored pallet and bright, red blood. At some point, Ray relieved her of her duties, filling out reports with a practiced eye and speedy script. She’d never be able to thank him enough. Despite the way her head was spinning, she took stock of the surroundings: room layered in dust, the lock untampered, the man’s clothes indicating he’d returned from the bar sloppily drunk. Everything she’d seen before. Like déjà vu. A distinct feeling, like she was forgetting something.

Patting down her suit jacket absently, as if it would reveal the answer somehow, she felt a crinkle in her pocket. A frown graced her lips. She didn’t remember putting notes in there, as she always recorded them digitally – on her phone. She stepped out of the room as the old coroner zipped the body up in a black bag.

Mabel fished the mysterious object out, recognizing the flyer after a few seconds. It was Gideon’s tour schedule that he’d given to her a few days ago.

Five seconds from shoving the offending piece of cardstock back in her pocket – or in the trash – she paused. Those dates, they looked familiar. Scrutinizing the schedule closely, Mabel began to notice that the dates were the same ones she’d been staring at over the past week, or within two or three days of those dates. The dates of the murders. And hadn’t Gideon said he’d just gotten into town when he gave her this schedule, at about the same time she’d investigated another murder?

Mabel shook her head, returning the flyer to her pocket and adding another note to her phone. She’d think about it later, when there wasn’t a dead body to deal with. A glance at her watch indicated that her four hours between painkillers was up. She swallowed another pill with a bottle from the case of water bottles that Ray always kept in his car for when investigating got busy. But even after, there was still a dull ache throbbing in her wrist and sparks of pain popping behind her eyes. Sure, motion kept her mind preoccupied, but it also aggravated her injuries if she wasn’t careful.

Ray shot her a concerned glance upon her reentry to the crime scene. Reassuring him, she sent him a thumbs up.

“We’re wrapping up.” Ben Gillig informed her, “Shepherd’s taking a statement from Darrel, but I assume you’d like to speak to him too.”

“Of course.”

Gillig nodded and left to make arrangements.

“Nothing obvious was missing.” Ray’s face looked a little paler, “But the guy’s gray matter was bashed in, so it’d be hard to tell.”

“We’ll leave that to Beckett to decide.” She agreed.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Ray queried in a quieter tone.

Mabel turned to face him square in the eyes, “Honestly, Ray, it sucks. But I’m doing all I can to keep going. I have to deal with this _now_. A dead body can’t wait, especially if the killer is changing tactics.”

“I know.” He said seriously, “If they start happening faster…” he trailed off.

“But it’s obviously him.”

“I think so too.”

“Let’s talk to the housemate.” Mabel said firmly, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will witness something of _actual_ value.”

And because she turned on her heel and marched off, she didn’t see the grimace that decorated Ray’s face.


	24. Try Another Perspective, It’s Refreshing

“So you saw nothing?”

Mabel didn’t let her disappointment enter her voice as she surmised Darrel’s account.

The younger man shrugged, “I think the admiration I held for Harold went one way. I appreciated that he was the only one who consistently paid his part of the bills. He could drink and smoke all night and still get up and go to his construction job in the morning. He didn’t give a shit about anyone, but he always held to his agreements. But he pretty much ignored me.”

Mabel nodded along as she tapped notes into her phone, one-handed.

“’When you’re this poor, your word is all you have’.” Darrel quoted, “His advice, while roughly offered, has really helped me out in the last few months.” Darrel’s eyes wandered as he saw the body being borne to the coroner’s van.

“Why did this happen?” He whispered, “Harold always minded his own business. I never saw him talk to anyone for more than a minute. He spent a lot of time at the bar – Blue Moose Inc. – but he just watched people. Never got involved.”

“You’ve been to the bar with him?” Mabel asked.

The young man nodded, “I went a few times. This crap band called ‘ _Heartbreak Immunity_ ’, or something like that, was always playing. One time, I saw this cute guy there, with the most amazing brown eyes I’ve ever seen, but as soon as I went over to talk to him, he left. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Do you know where he got his drugs?” Mabel continued.

“No.” Darrel admitted, “I work a lot, so I’m not around much. I think Harold didn’t want me to get into that stuff anyway. He never let me know. I think the stuff he was doing was pretty hard core. The other guys seemed pretty envious of him.”

Making a few last notes, Mabel stood, “I think that’s all I have for you right now. I might call you if anything else comes up.”

“Okay.” Darrel followed suit and shook her uninjured hand.

Like a ragtag parade, Mabel, Ray, and the last of the officers left the small house. Taking one last peek over her shoulder, Mabel pursed her lips. Darrel watched them through the window, alone. One housemate dead and the other two that were still nowhere to be seen.

It made her even more determined to push her pain aside. No matter how socially disconnected the victim, _someone_ would notice their absence and mourn their passing. People were never as alone as they thought they were.

Dipper had taught her that, thirteen years ago, during their second summer in Gravity Falls.

Something had seemed off after a few weeks. He’d have bruises and scrapes she couldn’t remember him getting during their adventures. Then their adventures began to dwindle away until they stopped altogether.

And then came the staring.

She wasn’t sure what else to call it. Blank looks? He’d ignore her for minutes on end, seemingly off in his own little world. And sometimes they’d find him like that in the weirdest places… like the edge of the woods.

Mabel didn’t realize her mind was running on autopilot until Ray had to wrench the completed reports from her hands. She’d been gripping them so hard her fingers ached. Her wrist twanged as she flexed them. Her head felt slow when she turned to look at her partner.

“I’ll turn these in.” he said slowly, as if he was sick of repeating himself. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Mabel nodded and slumped into the bench behind her. She put her head in her hands, realizing how off she was today. These drugs were making her out of it.

And the memories just wouldn’t stop. An echo of suffocating loneliness, the kind she experienced when Dipper disappeared, clawed her insides. It was like she was a little girl again – thirteen, almost fourteen – sitting on the worn wooden floor of the attic in the Shack, tearing through her brother’s things in search of clues. But the only thing out of place was Journal 3, gone. His handwritten notes were encoded, so she combed through the book they wrote together, deciphering the simpler ones. But all she found were documentations of the magical flora and fauna of Gravity Falls. Didn’t he need his notes where he was going? He never went anywhere without them. He’d be mad she’d mussed his neat handwriting with salty, water stains.

Her parents had come to retrieve her early, and somehow, her room seemed emptier than before, even though they didn’t share rooms in Piedmont – his room was across the hall. She read every mystery book he owned that summer, hoping against all hope that it would help her find her brother.

Then school started and the seat next to her was empty, the locker next to her was empty, and the place next to her soul reserved for her brother was empty too. It felt like her heart might collapse into the gaping hole left behind.

But it was so much worse when time stretched on and that space wasn’t empty, but occupied by someone or something else. Like suddenly the universe just spat in her face and suddenly she wasn’t a twin anymore.

Mabel wiped her nose with the palm of her good hand, ignoring the heat building in her eyes. It was fine if she cried. She was hurt. She was sad. And both were the kind of pain that was better let out.

Tears tickled as they rolled down her cheeks, splattering her hands and the floor below. And then there was a warm hand, big and calloused from practicing with a pistol, on her back.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, Mabel.” Ray’s voice was low – gentle.

See, people were never as alone as they thought. Right now she had Ray. All those years ago she’d had Grunkle Stan, Soos, Wendy, Pacifica, Candy, Grenda, and even the teenagers.

Why couldn’t Dipper have seen that he had her all along?


	25. I Hear About You, But I Never See You

Mabel’s eyelids snapped open at six in the morning. For a moment, she had trouble remembering where she was and how she had gotten there. But it was just her hotel room. Ray had dropped her off the afternoon before, letting her rest in peace. And now that she’d recuperated for over twelve hours, aided in dreamless sleep by painkillers, she felt better. Loads better.

She’d pass on the strong pills for today, as they obviously didn’t sit well with her. There was Tylenol in Ray’s car if she got desperate. But her aches and pains were minimal for now. Her mind felt clearer after unloading emotionally. It was time to capitalize on her wellbeing and stop a murderer.

Stop?

Stoplight.

Mabel blinked as a crosswalk to an unfamiliar intersection came to mind, but she shook it out of her head. There was no time to dilly-dally.

A hot shower later, she was donning her standard suit. The Windsor knot in her tie took an embarrassingly long time thanks to her clunky splint. She slid her matching, hot-pink headband into her hair as she checked her appearance one final time in the mirror. Perfect.

Not bothering to be silent for the other hotel patrons, she rapped loudly on Ray’s door. His answer came – after a full five minutes – complete with foggy eyes and rumpled sleepwear.

“Get ready!” Mabel chirped, “We’ve got a big day ahead.”

For once, Ray didn’t complain.

She should have picked up on the fact that something was suspicious then, but she was too excited.

It was still too early for continental breakfast, so the pair found an IHOP. Mabel pigged out on all things sweet and savory: crepes, sausages, pancakes, hash browns, the whole shebang. Ray continually refilled his mug of coffee until he was almost normal at the end of their meal.

Mabel practically skipped through the Salem Police Department’s front doors. Cheerfully, she accepted stacks of reports from Argent and Becket. Alice plopped a heavy envelope of developed photos in her arms. Madison met up with them to hand off the officer’s statements.

Ray didn’t think that anyone could match Mabel’s exuberance this morning until Madison broke out a huge smile.

“Did you hear?” the officer announced, brown eyes shining, “Holler was brought in early this morning!”

Mabel nearly did a dance.

“Detective Werner is questioning him now. They’re in the interrogation room if you want to stand in.”

“Lead the way!” Mabel told the young woman.

If Chris Werener’s boasts were true, the man sitting in the interrogation room certainly didn’t live up to his infamy. Ray didn’t think Holler was impressive, more like a grayed out man that looked as if he could dissolve into dust at any moment. Like the vestiges of his popular drugs.

The man’s skin looked as if it had once been tan and supple, but now it sagged off his body from exposure to Bunsen burners, fumes, and endless hours in a makeshift lab. His eyes appeared unpigmented and dry. His wispy hair was thinning on all sides.

But the tiny cant to his lips spoke volumes. Holler wasn’t afraid to be here. He wasn’t afraid of the consequences of his actions. He wasn’t amused.

Ray frowned, the man’s cool confidence setting him on edge.

Detective Werner peppered the man with questions, the usual vigor one would use to intimidate and make a suspect fumble up. But not only was Holler unfazed, he played into Chris’s hands with unequivocal honesty.

“Yes, the lab in the river boat is mine.”

“Yes, I’ve been concocting illicit drugs for years.”

“Yes, I am the producer of Holler’s Mix.”

“He seems awfully helpful.” Mabel observed, her face caught between concern and excitement.

Ray assessed the man again, then muttered. “He’s dying.”

Both Mabel and Madison whirled on Ray, surprise clearly written on their faces.

“My guess is cancer.” Ray went on, “My dad looked the same way. Like he’d lost weight too fast. Like his eyes were constantly glazed with fever. Like he was anemic, always pale, shaky, and tired. Holler has nothing to lose. He probably even wanted out of his trade and wasn’t permitted to leave. Holler’s Mix was the best on the market after all.”

Mabel turned to the man on the other side of the glass with sympathy in her eyes. Holler continued to explain.

“’Bout two years ago, the boss – Gemma Randell – asked me to develop a new drug. She said that it would be something that could revolutionize her industry. Make a lot of money. That it would be enough to pay off the debts I owed her. I knew it was a farce. But the idea was intriguing. I’ve been cooking this stuff for ages, and nothing new had never come along. You never added things to this stuff, just watered it down so you could sell more. So I agreed.” He chuckled, “But let me tell you. The stuff Gemma sent me, the brainchild of Holler’s Mix, is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. It took some time to experiment and discover the best avenue of consumption for the stuff. But when the final product was ready it was the most recreational, but also the most harmless drug on the streets.”

Mabel hummed from her side of the glass, “This man is smart. We’re lucky he’s not against us.”

“He’s not our killer?” Ray murmured.

She shook her head, “Just keep listening.”

“Where did you get the ingredients for Holler’s Mix?” Chris asked predictably.

“Gemma always had someone drop it off at my lab. She always needed to have control. Micromanaged. She was paranoid that someone would hijack her business. I don’t know if the person who brought the stuff was the supplier.”

“What did this person look like?” Chis prompted.

Holler’s gaze became unfocused as he recalled, “Like a nobody.” The man answered, “I always found it strange how it was hard to recall his face. I chalked it up to the fact that he had such a normal appearance, but now that I think about it, there might have been something else involved.” The man paused for a minute, “Plain clothes. White. Male, but these days, sometimes it’s hard to tell.” A shrug, “Average height and build.” Holler squinted at the wall, “Brown hair… maybe.”

“You’re saying you worked with this person for two years and you’re not sure what he looked like?” Chris asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

Holler nodded.

Ray stiffened. Mabel stared. Madison folded her arms in disappointment.

“Detective,” Holler place his hands on the stainless steel table in front of him and met Chris’s eyes, “I’m far too late to undo the damage I’ve done with the drugs I’ve made. I’m far too late for anything. My family. My friends. Even my city. But if you give me the chance, I’d like to do what I can.”

Chis glanced at his notes, “You will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Holler nodded.

“Start with telling me your affiliation with Robert Valentino and I’ll decide if I accept your offer.”

Holler’s smile was half-grimace, “Testing me with information you already know? Very clever, detective.”

“Just answer, Holler. No games.”

“Fine.” The gray man said, “Robert Valentino is the most lack-luster salesman I’ve ever known. He doesn’t have an ounce of charisma. He is prickly as a porcupine with the patience of a teenager. But he covers a good area with his artist gigs at Blue Moose Inc. and the university downtown. Gemma specifically wanted him to market Holler’s mix.”

“Who is Gemma?”

“Gemma Randell is the most unsuspecting old woman you’ve ever met. Beneath layers of fat, white hair, and a southern accent, she’s a viper. About as low as one too. She can’t be more than five feet tall.”

“ _What if we were able to get you a new queen? One even more beautiful than me?”_

_“Her name is Gideon and she has lovely, white hair.”_

Mabel stifle a giggle as a past conversation came back to her. When they’d described Gideon to Jeff the Gnome, hers and Dipper’s words had been roughly the same as Holler’s.

The rest of the interrogation went on without a hitch. Mabel was happy for Chris. He was more ecstatic about this case than she’d ever seen him. With Holler’s witness, he could practically bring down an empire. But Mabel was also happy for the information she’d learned about her own case. She had a feeling that she had most of the pieces. Like one more push would begin the domino effect and all the cards would be in her hands.

She was mixing metaphors, but… whatever.


	26. This Isn’t Hogwarts, And All The Owls Are Dead

“Ray, why you ackin’ so cray cray?” Mabel asked over lunch.

The man rolled his eyes at her turn of phrase, but confessed nonetheless.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I investigated down in the red light district while you were recovering yesterday.”

Red?

Red room.

Another odd flash of memory that seemed disjointed and unreal. Mabel pushed it aside to tease Ray through a mouthful of food, “Why would I mind?”

“We’re partners.” Ray took a small bite so he could still talk around it, “We’re supposed to work together. Make decisions together. Investigate together. So on and so forth.”

“Ray,” Mabel gulped, “In two months you’ll be doing this stuff on your own. Heck, you’re good enough to do it on your own now. I’m doing my job right as your mentor if you’re choosing to take initiative. Not to mention, it saved me quite a headache!” She smiled and pointed to the bruise on her head.

Ray smiled too, but tightly, at the joke. He still wasn’t okay with the fact that she’d been injured. That he wasn’t around to do anything. And that she could recall what she’d been doing.

“What did you find out?”

Mabel was good at distracting people. Ray launched into his findings with that simple prompt, “Well, I air-dropped your photos to my phone. Hope you don’t mind, but I know the password is _Waddles_. The first two places I went, they kicked me out as soon as they saw the circle. I learned my lesson after that, and started with asking about the supernatural community, pretending like I wanted to get involved.” Ray flipped open his notebook and handed it to Mabel, “The stuff they told me seemed pretty cliché. But I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Reading Ray’s handwriting was a bit of a challenge, but Mabel had grown used to it over the past few months and powered through. Palm-readings. Séances. Fortunes. Charms. The works.

“Did you get anyone to tell you about demon summoning?”

“A pretty hole-in-the-wall place had a decent selection of books. I asked if they carried any on that subject and they said it wasn’t a topic that was in high demand. More like taboo. But they also said they’d had a weird customer come in for warding spells not too long ago. They asked about demons too.”

Mabel tapped her chin, “Did they say who it was?”

“The clerk I talked to only placed the order, they didn’t have any contact with the customer who didn’t leave a name.”

A dead end. But considering all the luck they’d had with the case so far, it was bound to happen eventually.

She propped her chin up on the table with her good hand, pouting, “Superstitious people aren’t much help. But it probably means that our demon is the real deal.”

Ray took a sip of his drink, “What are we going to do about it?”

“The best defense against demons is to stay the hell away from them.” Mabel confessed, “The only exception to that rule is if one takes an interest in you. But since there’s not much we can do about that, the best we can do is pray we find this murderer before he tries anything dramatic.”

“What are the chances we can do that?”

“Very good.”

While Mabel’s optimism usually had a way of soothing Ray’s fears, it wasn’t the case this time. His gut twisted as he mulled over the little hints and sightings he hadn’t shared with her. She wouldn’t understand. Intuition. Hadn’t that been her excuse last time for keeping him out of the loop?

For a few minutes, there was silence as Mabel and Ray continued to eat. He finally broke the silence with a conversation that took Mabel by surprise.

“When Miranda decided she wanted a divorce, I can honestly say I was blindsided.” Ray started. His smile was self-depreciating. “Pretty stupid, huh? I wanted to be a detective, but I never even saw the signs that my wife was cheating on me. Everything happened so fast. I barely even had time to find a lawyer.”

Mabel was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. Ray _never_ voluntarily talked about his divorce. The few things she knew about it were cursory, what she could glean from dropped hints and conversations.

“That lawyer wasn’t even worth the money I scrounged up to pay him. His arguments were half-assed at best, so it didn’t even surprise me when I lost custody of Nina.”

Ray could feel Mabel’s compassion and confusion, but he continued. He had a point here.

“Nina’s fifth birthday was two weeks ago. I went to the public park in San Jose – where Miranda lives now with her new husband – to see her at her party. Luckily Nina recognized me and Miranda didn’t call the police on me. I was able to give her a hug, a kiss, and a birthday present. Then I left.”

He turned his eyes from where he’d been staring out the window to meet Mabel’s steady gaze.

“Tell me more about your brother.” His voice was even, though his throat felt constricted just thinking about his tiny little girl in his arms, her grip tight around his neck.

A slanted smile curved Mabel’s lips, “So that’s what you were getting to.”

“It’s only fair.”

“It’s not really fair that you volunteered that information without my asking. You set me up.”

“That was the point.” Ray shrugged, “I don’t want to interrogate you, Mabel, I just want to know more. You’ve been off your game as of late. Maybe talking about it will help.”

Mabel sighed and smiled, no bitterness this time. “I guess you’re right.” She leaned back as she began. “You already know the stuff about his disappearance, so the only thing left to tell, really, is how big of a doofus he was.”

Ray looked like he wanted to interrupt, but she continued without letting him.

“Dipper kept records of everything. He had these notebooks he filled with notes for win/loss records of games we played together, catalogues of different ciphers, conspiracy theories he came up, secret societies he wanted to investigate, revenge plots. Dip was kinda paranoid and socially inept.” Mabel admitted.

“Sounds like it.” Ray muttered.

“I might have been the only person he trusted completely, though he did have this weird thing with Pacifica one time at this fancy party.” Mabel’s thoughts wandered off, but she quickly snapped back to attention, “We were the Mystery Twins. Maybe we didn’t do _everything_ together, but we did almost everything together.”

“You two were pretty close?”

“Not always. Our parents kind of treated us like only children. We had separate rooms. We never had to share anything. We had vastly different interests. Sure, we got along when we were kids, but it wasn’t until we spent that first summer together in Gravity Falls that we grew close. It made us inseparable. We’d go on adventures in the woods whenever he wanted to ‘investigate’ something. Which was a good, because I probably saved his life, like, on a daily basis, he was such a wimp. People made fun of him a lot, but he didn’t like it when I defended him. He wanted to earn people’s respect for himself. He wanted to know things. And he wanted to be right.”

Ray thought about whether or not such a desire was healthy, but Mabel was already talking again.

“Dipper might have been a doofus, but he was a smart, clever, and resourceful doofus. That’s probably why it took so long for me to believe that he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back. That he wouldn’t show up and ask me why I was reading his mystery novels on the floor in his room.”

A valid line of reasoning in Ray’s opinion.

“I think I would have liked to meet him.” Ray said when Mabel looked like she was done talking about it.

Mabel shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, “Well the point is moot now.”

She’d like to think that Dipper could be friends with her partner, but her brother had been habitually crippled by his inability to trust people. She wouldn’t place any bets on their camaraderie. Heck, Grunkle Stan would probably bet against him. Especially after Dipper’s weirdness during the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Both she and Grunkle Stan had never mentioned it to either her parents or the police. No one would believe them anyway.

There was no way someone’s shadow could be a triangle.

“Let’s go tell Robbie that this drug case is getting wrapped up,” Mabel announced, pulling money from her pocket to pay the check, “Maybe Chris needs some help negotiating an agreement.”

Ray followed after his partner, the unease curling in his stomach still palpable.


	27. Seeing Is Believing, Or Not

Maybe she was getting clumsier lately or it was a dizzy spell from her concussion, but Mabel completely biffed it for the second time in less than a week. She was jogging up the concrete steps to the precinct when her foot caught on something and she lost her balance. A mere second away from toppling over, a pair of hands steadied her. Not Ray’s, he was still parking the car.

Dizzy spell, she decided, because when she looked up, she saw the face of her brother. Dipper’s big, round eyes, bags underneath them. Mussed, curly, out-of-control brown hair. The usual quirk of his eyebrow when he was trying to be serious and not laugh at something stupid she’d done. All those things on the face of a man the same age as her. They’d be twenty-seven soon. Twins were born birthday experts.

“Detective Pines?” It felt like Tyrone’s voice was trying to worm its way into her ear, but all she could hear was Dipper. Didn’t he like that name? Tyrone. What a silly name to like.

And suddenly, with perfect clarity, she could see again. Only it wasn’t the steps leading up to the Salem Police Department that she saw. No. It was a busy intersection. The stoplight going from green to red to green again. The walk light. The countdown. The chase.

Her brother. Her actual brother – not the young police officer that resembled him so closely – had been only a street away. She’d fallen, passed out, and dreamed about him.

Mabel gasped, like her head had been dunked in freezing water, the memories of that night coming back to her.

Why had she seen her brother?

Pushing Tyrone’s hands away, she ran up the last of the steps and sprinted into the station. Ray called after her, but she ignored him. She found what she was looking for. A payphone near the front doors, a phonebook sitting innocuously on the little shelf underneath it. Mabel flipped through the yellow pages furiously enough to tear the thin paper. There it was.

She dialed the number into her phone, using both hands and ignoring the way her left wrist complained about the task. The phone rang and she waited impatiently, rapping her fingers against the little shelf and the phonebook. Ray arrived, looking perplexed, but he didn’t question her actions.

Why had she seen her brother? Only answer: it was a trick. As much as she hated the reality of it, Dipper was dead. But if Dipper’s memory was being used, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it continue.

Someone finally answered. Not the voice she’d hoped and dreaded to hear, but a tired, female voice, “Gideon Gleeful, master of illusions and magic. This is Gertrude speaking. May I take a message? Gideon is unavailable at the moment.”

“I’m sure he’s ‘unavailable’.” Mabel snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice, “Busy doing his hair with enough hairspray to cause a forest fire. Just tell him that Mabel Pines wants to have a word with him.”

“Ma’am, I can’t do that.” Gertrude objected, but her tone was hesitant.

“How difficult is it for him to walk to the other end of his RV and answer the phone?”

“Um…”

“Gertrude,” Another voice sounded small as the receiver on the other end picked it up from far away, “If they offer less than five thousand for a gig, don’t accept it. I’m worth more than these pittances you’ve been booking for me!”

“Of course, sir.” The woman stammered, “But it’s not a contractor. It’s a woman by the name of Mabel Pines.”

“What!?” Mabel’s cell phone sputtered with the sounds of Gideon tearing his way towards the phone.

“Gimme that, woman.” He snapped, “Go arrange my lotions, or something.” He cleared his throat and finally said to Mabel, “Why hello, My Marshmallow. I’m so glad you called!”

Mabel held back a shudder at the turnabout in his demeanor.

“Gideon…”

“Did you finally decide to take me up on my offer and be the guest of honor in one or my shows?” He interrupted, voice sickly sweet, “Which one did you decide on?”

“That’s not why I’m calling, Gideon.” Mabel answered, keeping her own voice neutral, “We need to talk. In person.”

“Why, Mabel Pines! Are you asking me on a date?”

“No.”

“I do think you are too bashful, My Marshmallow. It’s okay. I understand. I can make arrangements. What restaurant would you like? What time.”

“Gideon…”

“There’s this great seafood place downtown. How about there?”

“Gideon…”

“I remember how much you liked the lobster last time.”

Mabel ran a hand down her face. Giving up, she responded, “Fine. But I want to meet now.” she glanced at her watch, “Two o’ clock.”

“That doesn’t give me a lot of time.” Gideon fretted, “I still need to do my hair and…”

“Two or never, Gideon.”

“Oh, fine.” He huffed, “You sure drive a hard bargain, My Marshmallow. I like that. The place is called _The Riviera_ …”

She hung up before the showman could say another word.

Mabel heaved a big sigh, finally meeting Ray’s gray eyes. “I remember.”

He didn’t need any further explanation. He tossed the car keys to Mabel and they were out the door in a flash.

“What about Valentino?” Ray asked, pulling the passenger door shut. Mabel started the car and the tires squealed as she accelerated none too carefully.

“He can wait. This is more important.”

“And what is _this_ , exactly?”

“I saw my brother.” Mabel’s eyes were on the road, but she could feel Ray’s incredulous stare. “When I fell, I was chasing after him… someone or something that looked like him.”

“Why would you say ‘or something’?”

“Because Gideon is an illusionist and a magician. When we were younger, he also had a journal – one like my brother’s – that allowed him to do real magic. Gideon has made deals with demons before. Not to mention, that schedule he gave me. He’s had a show within a few days of every one of the murders. It’s possible he’s been sneaking into Salem early to commit his crimes before he actually ‘arrives’.”

When Ray frowned, Mabel continued.

“He’d know how to throw Robbie off his tracks – with a ghost. He’d know that I was here, investigating, and that he needed to speed up his plan. He’d know about Dipper. And he’d know the perfect way to mess with me.”

Mabel gripped the steering wheel tight as she made a sharp turn and sped up, inertia pressed them back into their seats.

“Then why would he accept your invite? Why would he give you his show schedule? Why would he talk to you? Wouldn’t those things compromise his plan?”

“No.” She disagreed, “It would seem suspicious if he _didn’t_ do any of those things. He’s been obsessed with me ever since we were kids, Ray.”

“And Dipper?”

“Obsessed with him too, but not in the same way. He hated Dipper. Gideon tried to kill him on more than one occasion.”

“And he thought he’d still win you over if he did that?”

“Gideon’s a twisted, little creep. He’s capable of the murders we’ve seen.”

Ray was silent. But there was nothing more to say. They had arrived at _The Riviera_.


	28. You Have A Good Point, But I Won’t Admit It Because I Hate You

The restaurant was far too posh for Mabel’s liking. But leave it to Gideon to be too egotistical to catch on to that fact after thirteen years. He was humming the tune of ‘Little Ole Me’ as he perused the menu at a table for two.

But Mabel didn’t even bother to announce her presence. She marched straight up to the diminutive showman and grabbed him by the lapels of his powder-blue suit.

“You’re right on time, My Marshmallow!” he said sweetly, completely disregarding the fact that Mabel had hauled him to his feet and only his tiptoes could touch the floor. “Would you like to start with an appetizer?”

Ray warded off the dirty looks of the other patrons with a flash of his badge. Mabel continued to stare Gideon right in his beady, black eyes.

“Drop the showbiz, Gideon. I’m not in the mood to deal with it.”

“Oh so threatening. You truly are fit to rule by my side. But what’s this?” Gideon had caught sight of her injuries, gaze flitting between her wrist and forehead. His expression darkened, “How did this happen? Just say the word and I shall avenge you.”

“You really don’t know?” Mabel narrowed her eyes, “You don’t remember making any illusions for me two nights ago?”

Gideon honestly looked confused, but Mabel pressed on, “I was on my way back to my hotel from City Lights Café when I saw my brother on the other side of the street.”

“I thought your dear brother had passed on.” Gideon commented.

Mabel shook him, “Don’t pretend like you gave a damn about Dipper.” She seethed. Gideon’s ability to get under her skin didn’t help her keep her temper in check.

“I did.” Gideon met her eyes, “I wanted him very much as dead as he is now.”

“So why would you orchestrate an illusion of him where I would see it? Robbie too? There are practically Dipper sightings all across town. Did you think you could frame a dead boy for murder?”

“Murder!?” Gideon exclaimed, “Oh my stars! When did murder come into the picture?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Mabel finally let the illusionist go and he slumped back into his chair. Mabel’s tone had taken on an uncustomary calm. “Murders and demon summonings. That seems like something you would do.”

“Not anymore.” For once Gideon didn’t sound patronizing or flirtatious. He systematically straightened his rumpled clothing.

“What do you mean?”

“How could I summon a demon without a pentagram or a chant?”

“You had Journal 2 in your possession for years.” Mabel argued, “Surely you had copies and notes.”

“I did.” Gideon grew quiet and serious, “But it seems you don’t recall the fact that my house burned down.”

That made Mabel pause. She vaguely remembered the event – remembered celebrating the little con artist’s misfortunes with Dipper.

“The fire originated in my room.” Gideon went on, “None of my possessions were salvageable. I didn’t have Journal 2 at the time, but my notes and my magic artifacts were completely obliterated. But you know what the real icing on the cake was?”

Mabel shook her head, unable to look away from the ex-con artist.

“As I was escaping the inferno, I saw Dipper, standing at the edge of the forest, watching my house burn. I knew then that he was the arsonist. Your brother always did play with fire.”

The gleam in the smaller man’s eyes told Mabel that he wasn’t referring to literal fire.

“ _The triangle is the alchemist’s symbol for flame. Lighting the parchment on fire will reveal the secret message.”_

Mabel didn’t want to think about triangles.

Gideon was right, Dipper had toyed with dangerous magic. That second summer in Gravity Falls, even more so. It wasn’t hard to construct an image in her mind of Dipper, face blank and flames reflecting off flat, brown eyes.

“Why would Dipper do that?”

Gideon ignored her question, “Am I still suspect?”

Shaking off the image of her brother, Mabel queried, “Where were you six nights ago?”

“Traveling.” Gideon said simply, “I drove my RV through the night. Gertrude can corroborate my account. We were stuck in the same vehicle, after all.”

Co-conspirators. It wasn’t much of an alibi. Ray must have had the same thought.

“You’ll need to come with us to the police station for further questioning.” The larger man stepped forward, positively towering over the showman.

“What about lunch!?” Gideon’s voice rose in exaggerated panic.

Mabel turned on her heel, ignoring the man’s pleas to return. “I already ate.” The showman made a sound of utter betrayal.


	29. Presenting, The New Mr. And Mrs. Mystery

Mabel slouched against the stiff, wooden benches of the Salem Police Department, exhausted. Despite the dramatic exit, she’d still had to spend the entire drive back in the car with the creepy showman. Ray let her drive as an excuse to focus on the road rather than Gideon’s voice. He’d basically ruined marshmallows for her with the number of times he’d called her that. Ray looked no better off when he returned form securing Gideon in a holding cell.

“How did you ever stand him?”

“I had Dipper.” She answered simply, handing him a bottle of water as he collapsed on the bench beside her, “He’d do the dirty work. He had no qualms about shooting someone down and he never missed a chance to get back at Gideon.”

After a minute, he quietly queried, “Are the things Gideon said about the fire true?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, his house did burn down, but I don’t know if Dipper was responsible.” She finally sighed, “He never said anything about it. I wouldn’t put something like that past him, but… but he would have told me if he did.”

Ray didn’t like how unsure of herself Mabel sounded. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of her own words.

Suddenly, they lyrics for “Straight Blanchin” by Lil Big Dawg rang out from Mabel’s inner pocket. Ray vaguely remembered it being a summer pop sensation when he was in high school, but he had never bothered to find out what the words were exactly. Something about eating pants?

Mabel fished out her cell and swiped the answer command.

“Soos!” Her tone was warm and friendly, so obviously not a work related call. Ray waved her off as she pointed to the receiver and left his earshot.

Outside, Mabel couldn’t hold in her excitement, “It’s so good to hear from you, Soos!”

“Yeah, Mabel dood.” Came the chubby man’s usual greeting, “Melody dood is here too!”

“Hey Melody.”

“Hey, Mabel.” Her voice sounded farther away, like the couple was sharing the phone on speaker, “We heard you were in Oregon. We wanted to try and convince you to swing by for a visit on your way back from whatever you’re doing for work. It’s been forever! And you haven’t met Esperanza yet.”

“It’s Espi for short!” Another voice yelled from the far background.

“We know, Elena dood!” Soos yelled back to his five-year-old daughter.

“Who did you hear from?” Mabel asked, already knowing the answer.

“Wendy.” Melody answered, “It was her weekend off. She came up to babysit the kids so Soos and I could have a date weekend.”

“Oh,” Mabel teased, “Scandalous.”

“Totally.” Soos agreed, “If I’d written a fanfic about it, it’d fall into the upper-teen rating, maybe mature if you were paranoid.”

Mabel laughed. She could hear Melody getting her revenge for Soos’s comment as a tickle attack traveled over the line.

“So how is business in the Mystery Shack?” She changed the topic for Melody’s sake

“Better than ever.” Soos exclaimed, “I put in a 4d movie theatre. We were doing a showing of _Jurassic World_ for our ‘Creepy Old movie Showcase’ about a week ago, complete with a set of animatronic dinos. Old Man McGucket souped those up for us. I want to do _Loinclotheclese_ next, but Melody won’t let me since Elena inherited your fear of stop-motion animation.”

“Guess you’ll have to find something else.” Mable laughed, soaking up the way Soos had never stopped considering her as family. Then again, Grunkle Stan _had_ bequeathed Soos the deed to the Shack as Soos’s inheritance. They were family, in all but name.

“So when are you coming, Mabel dood? I’ve put extra glitter on all the attractions in your honor!”

Mabel held back a sigh, “I don’t know, Soos. This case is tough. I can’t take a break till everything is solved.”

“Well you should take tiny breaks.” Melody butted into the conversation again, “You need plenty of rest and nourishment if you want to by functioning at full capacity.”

“Too late,” Mabel chuckled, “I tripped, not a week into the investigation. Gave myself a sprained wrist and a concussion.”

It sounded like Melody completely hijacked the phone after that, “You should take it easy for seven to ten days, Mabel.” She instructed, entering complete nurse mode, “If any of your symptoms – headaches, confusion, memory problems, or vomiting get worse – you should go see a doctor immediately. And you can always call me if you’re not sure.”

“Thanks, Nurse Ramirez.”

“Don’t mock me, young lady.” Melody said sternly, “I have a masters in nursing from Oregon Health and Science in Portland.”

They both laughed.

“But seriously, Mabel. Let us know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“Yeah, Mabel dood.” Soos added, “I’m always ready to help with a mystery hunt!”

“It’s not quite the same, Soos.” She knew she sounded a bit wistful, “I wish it were. Bunkers and hideouts. Monsters and magical creatures. They are so much easier to deal with than people who seem like they’re always lying.”

“Like who?”

After a pause, Mabel decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell them.

“Gideon, actually.” She confessed.

“Oh, he’s in Salem now?” Melody queried.

“What do you mean by ‘now’?”

“I saw him in Gravity Falls a few days ago. Um, let me think, six days ago.” Melody mused, “You know I make house calls for his mother. She has dementia. I believe Gideon personally covers her medical expenses. Anyway, he was visiting her when I made a check in. I know you don’t like him, but he’s done a good job caring for his mother ever since his father had that heart attack and passed away.”

While that information raced through her mind, Mabel responded automatically, “He should take care of her after everything he put her through when he was younger.”

“Yeah dood.” Soos agreed.

“Anyway,” Melody huffed, “Come visit us, Mabel. Seriously.”

“Yeah dood.” Soos added helpfully.

“We have to go now. Soos needs to round up the girls and I need to get supper started. Wendy is coming for dinner tonight. I’m making taco soup.”

Mabel’s stomach growled as she realized how late it was getting, “Oh man. That sounds good.”

Melody laughed, “Come visit us.” She repeated, “And I’ll make you some.”

“Deal.”


	30. The True Confessions Of Pacifica Northwest

The last thing Mabel remembered was the stiff mattress of her hotel bed beneath her. But for some reason, she now sat in a plush, cushioned char. She grasped the armrests and opened her eyes to look around the room. Red. Everywhere.

It was that dream again.

Her heeled shoes clicked on the black and white tile when she stood. Absently, she noticed that none of her injuries had carried over into the dreamscape.

“Dipper?”

The other set of chairs were nowhere to be found. Her voice echoed into the depths of the empty space and was slowly swallowed by the silence.

Mabel drew breath to call again when she noticed a high humming effusing from the red curtains. It sounded like something from an old pop song. But even more so, it felt like it was supposed to mean something.

“Bill.” She muttered under her breath.

The humming was interrupted by a laugh, tittering with madness. Regardless, whatever was going on, the triangle would know.

“Bill!” She demanded with more volume, “Where are you? Where is Dipper? What is this place?”

“Tsk tsk, Shooting Star.” She shivered at the nickname, “You’re not dreaming enough. Better try harder.”

What did he mean ‘not dreaming enough’? The thought had barely slipped through her mind when the red, white, and black room began to spiral away. Colors ran together like a watercolor painting. Bill’s laugh sounded like it was coming through a homemade, tin-can telephone. Her body felt weightless like she was plummeting down the bottomless pit.

She woke to the sound of her phone ringing, _Shake It Off_ by Taylor Swift pinging through the tiny speaker. The song was reaching its climax, prompting Mabel to snatch it off the nightstand before it went to voicemail. She swiped the answer command, adrenaline, from the dream and the sudden arousal, making her hand slightly shaky.

“Pacifica.” Her voice was thick with sleep because the red numerals on the bedside clock read close to midnight, “What’s up?”

“We need to talk.” Pacifica responded almost immediately. A note of panic edged her voice, even though Mabel could tell she was trying to hide it.

“Um, okay. We’re talking now…”

Pacifica cut her off, “No. It has to be in person. I’m sitting in my car. Just tell me where you’re staying and I’ll be there shortly.”

“Is something wrong, Pacifica?”

“Mabel, please just tell me where you’re staying.”

“The Marriott on Hawthorne Avenue.”

“Okay. That’s not too far. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Can you meet me in the main lobby?”

“Yeah, Pacifica, but what’s going on?”

Her friend ignored her question, saying, “See you soon.” And hung up, leaving Mabel staring at her phone and wondering what had just happened. Her mind raced with possibilities, but she shut them down. Pacifica could explain herself when she arrived. Mabel pulled on some clothes so she was more decent and tiptoed down the silent halls to the lobby.

A clerk was stationed at the tall desk, reading a book and ignoring her presence. Mabel didn’t mind. She helped herself to a complementary cup of coffee. After adding three creams and way too much sugar, she took one sip of the tepid concoction and threw it away.

How in the world did Ray drink that stuff all the time?

Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought any money with her so she could purchase a bottle of juice from the vending machines. She didn’t want to risk going up to her room in case she missed Pacifica. Whatever her friend wanted to tell her must be important. And if she had worked up the courage to tell her in the middle of the night, who’s to say she would work up the courage to do it again. But Mabel wasn’t sure how much longer she could dither about the lobby before the clerk would say something about it.

She didn’t get to find out. Pacifica breezed through the automatic double doors, frantically scanning the lobby. Mabel waved to nab her attention.

Pacifica marched over, grabbed her uninjured arm, and dragged her outside. The air was balmy and warm. The lights illuminating the parking lot buzzed overhead. By their light. Mabel could see her that friend’s face was drawn and pale.

“Pacifica…” she started.

“Shhhh…” Pacifica insisted. She glanced around, as if to confirm that they were completely alone. Finally satisfied, she said, “I need to tell you something.”

“Uh, obviously.” Mabel muttered. But she decided to give her friend a brake. Pacifica’s brows were pinched together and her lips were pressed in a thin line, not a good sign, “What is this all about, Pacifica.”

Her friend’s eyes darted to Mabel’s wrist, the splint clearly exposed by the t-shirt she usually slept in.

“You got hurt.” Pacifica whispered.

“Sure.” Mabel was confused, “It’s an occupational hazard.”

“I guess I never realized before.” Pacifica sounded as if she was talking to herself more than Mabel, “You could die.”

“Pacifica.” Mabel rested her hands on her friend’s shoulders, waiting until she looked her in the eyes, “We could all die. At any time. I don’t think my injuries require this level of panic.”

“But they do.” Pacifica reached up and tangled her fingers in her own hair, like she was seconds from pulling it out, “You could die without knowing…”

Pacifica’s eyes strayed to Mabel’s forehead. It was now a few lovely shades of green and yellow. Her shoulders slumped, “But I don’t know how to tell you.”

Mabel shook her friend, “Tell me what? Pacifica, you know me. I won’t be mad.”

Haunted blue eyes stared back into hers. Pacifica’s words were barely audible, “But you will.”

“What can be that bad?” Mabel said with exasperation.

“Dipper is alive.”

Mabel froze. She must be hearing things. After all, she’d been hallucinating and dreaming about her brother for the past week. There was no way Pacifica had said…

“Dipper is alive.” Pacifica repeated, “And he’s here in Salem.”

Mabel’s hands fell off her friend’s shoulders to hang loosely at her sides.

“What!?”

Was that her voice? It was hoarse and broken. So much more so than when Robbie had made a similar claim a few days ago. Because, coming from Pacifica, it was actually believable.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe it. She had struggled with exactly that for years. Growing paranoid, like Dipper, she had mistakenly read into ‘signs of his return’ practically every other day. She’d already wrestled with the demon known as Hope. She’d beat it down so that she could accept her brother’s passing. So why was it deciding to rear its ugly head now?

“No.”

Pacifica gently took Mabel’s hands in hers.

“You have to believe me.” She said softly, “I don’t have any proof. But I’ve seen him – not just in passing – I’ve met with him. He’s here. He’s alive.”

Mabel appraised her friend. She looked much more relaxed now that she’d said what she’d said. There were tears, still unshed, in her eyes. A happy, somewhat strained, smile was on her face. Pacifica honestly believed Dipper was alive.

So many questions flew through her mind. How? Why? Where?

“I could barely believe it myself.” Pacifica explained, “About a year ago, I saw him in a bookstore in town.” She laughed, “How typical about him, right?

“As soon as he noticed me, he left. He didn’t otherwise acknowledge me. For a while, I was able to convince myself that it was a fluke – a doppelganger or something like that. But a month later, I saw him again. More literally, I ran into him.”

Pacifica blushed a little, “I had to know for sure, so I might’ve checked his forehead there in the middle of the crowd. Sure enough, he still had that dorky, constellation birthmark. I wouldn’t let him out of my sight after that. He tried to get away. But I’m a very persuasive person when I want to be. We went to a café. I was planning on making him tell me everything, but…”

Mabel was still too speechless to talk, but Pacifica didn’t need prompting.

“But he didn’t talk. Mabel. I’m not even sure he _can_.”

Pacifica well and truly upset now. Dry sobs hitched her shoulders. She fought to keep herself together so she could continue talking.

“His face was so blank. Sometimes the tiniest expressions would slip though, but you could tell it was a struggle. And there’s something wrong with his eyes, like they’re so completely flat that you can’t see his soul. He didn’t talk. But I could tell he understood me. I tried making him write instead, so he could explain, but everything he wrote was in ciphers and I couldn’t decode it.”

Mabel felt useless as she stood there, too in shock to comfort her friend much less herself. Her mind felt empty, the constant whine of feedback when there was no activity. Pacifica wiped her nose on her sleeve, “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel like I could go to anyone. He’s not even supposed to be alive. I didn’t know if I could even tell _you_ because you might not believe me and it would definitely hurt you. Please tell me you’re okay.”

Pacifica was looking at her earnestly and waiting for an answer. But Mabel didn’t know how to react. Finally, a sturdy emotion took over: anger.

Mabel didn’t want to be mad at Pacifica. She was her best friend after all. But this betrayal was simply too much to overlook. Forgiveness would come in time. But for now…

“Leave me alone.” Her voice was hollow.

“Mabel, please!” Pacifica begged, “We can figure this out together.”

“No.” Mabel fought to stay calm, “We can’t. You know how much Dipper meant to me. You know how much I wanted him back. I’ll find him myself.”

“That’s not fair!” there was a spark in her friend’s eyes, a hint of Northwest pride and stubbornness, “You know how much Dipper meant to me too!”

Mabel snapped, “That doesn’t matter right now, Pacifica. He’s my brother!”

“But…”

Mabel turned away, tuning Pacifica out as she strode back into the hotel. Her thoughts were a whir. “Take everything into account” Frederick had said. Her mission was now twofold. Find the killer. Find her brother.

She really had seem him that evening.

She would find him again.

Dipper was alive.


	31. Sleepless Nights And Splattered Hemoglobin

Mabel didn’t know how long she had been sorting through Ray’s notes, looking at lists of paranormal bookstores and supernatural gift shops before she gave up. None of them looked like places Dipper would consider ‘reputable resources’. She dug out her laptop, which hadn’t gotten much use on her trip so far because she’d been so busy, and connected it to the sluggish hotel wifi. She wasn’t even sure where to start. Maybe with online forums? But how could she tell which were the serious ones? Would she be able to recognize a username as Dipper’s anyway.

Five minutes from smashing her head on the desk, her cell phone rang. An unfamiliar number was displayed on the screen, but lately, that usually meant that someone from the Salem Police Department was calling. She answered.

“Detective Pines, this is Officer Golar.” The man was as professional as ever.

“What’s up, Tyrone.”

“You and your partner are needed. It’s a motel just off the Willamette University campus called Cozy Inn. You’ll see us when you get here.”

“Okay.”

Mabel instinctively knew what this was about. Another murder. Their killer wasn’t wasting time anymore. Part of her knew it was because she had started investigating, but another part of her smothered the thought because she didn’t want to deal with the guilt.

“We’ll be there soon.”

She hung up.

The overhead lights burned her eyes when she flicked them on so she could locate her suit. As quick as she could, she dressed, leaving out her tie altogether. But it grated on her. The absence of the smooth material around her neck was a staunch reminder that she was not at her best, both physically and mentally. Partway through, she had woken Ray as well. So in short notice, they were both ready to go.

Mabel let Ray drive, even though that was usually her job during emergencies. But there was no point in risking it. The victim was already dead. And Ray could tell, just by looking at her, that she hadn’t slept and that her head was aching like a fiend.

“Do you want anything?”

“No.” Mabel’s response was clipped, “We shouldn’t waste time. And it’s not that bad.”

“Something else then?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

Mabel glanced at her partner. She could tell him. She could trust him. That much she knew. But would he question her objectivity if she told him just how hurt she was?

“You can tell me, Mabel” Ray added, noticing her hesitation.

“Pacifica paid me a visit around midnight.” Mabel looked straight ahead so she didn’t have to see his reaction, “She told me that Dipper is alive and that he’s here in Salem.”

She didn’t miss the way Ray tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Steely eyes hardened.

“And you believe her?”

“Yes.”

Ray didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to find him.”

“Of course you will, Mabel.”

“But I’m going to deal with this murder first.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent as they passed by stonework, University buildings. The car slid through deserted streets that grew more dilapidated with every block. Finally, the motel came into view, bathed in blue and red light from the small squad of police cars.

Mabel approached the scene with confidence.

“Golar,” She instructed, “Report.”

“Yessir.” The officer all but saluted. Mabel could see why she’d been thrown off by the similarities the young man shared with her brother. “The victim in question – Jim Johnston – missed an interview yesterday evening, which was the first indicator of his disappearance. They prospective employer called the motel where he’d been staying to leave a message. The proprietor, who’d known Johnston well enough, didn’t bother trying to find Johnston until three in the morning – when Johnston usually returned from his nightly activities. That was when he was discovered, dead, in his room.”

“Thank you.” Mabel typed notes into her phone.

With all the practice she’d had since coming to Salem, the paperwork turned out to be a breeze.

But with the way her world had been upended in the last few hours, she felt like she was seeing signs of her past everywhere. The dust and mold in the decrepit room reminded of the attic bedroom they shared when they were younger. Beer cans morphed to brightly labeled containers for Pitt soda. Even the weapon of choice, which was no longer present, reminded her of Gravity Falls. The victim had been decapitated with an axe.

“ _We’ve got a big break in the case._ ”

“ _Break in the case!_ ”

“ _We’re heading into town right not to interrogate the murderer._ ”

“ _We have an axe!_ ”

Mabel turned away from the body, feeling slightly sick. Luckily Beckett was already there to wrap up.

She nodded to Ray. Without further ado, they went to take a statement from the proprietor.

“I hadn’t seen him all day, but that wasn’t uncommon.” A man who looked too young to be in such a dead-end business stated, “Jim had honestly been shaping up lately. Not getting quite as drunk, or high, or staying out as late. This interview was part of it.”

“Why would he suddenly decide to do that?” Ray asked, pen poised to record the answer.

“Love.”

“What?” Mabel and Ray chorused. That was some kind of curve ball.

The proprietor scratched his head, “It’s my understanding that he met a woman. It made him realize where he was in life; that he wouldn’t go anywhere if he didn’t change. Last night, I gave him a freebie because I thought he went to that interview. And his usual activities might be a good way to unwind. But his girlfriend called at about one this morning to say that he’d never come to see her like he’d planned. I found him shortly after that.”

“Anything else?” Mabel queried.

The man shrugged.

“It’s a shame.” His voice was much quieter now – thoughtful. “So much was turning around for him. Getting better. And Jim, maybe he was a deadweight at times, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Anyone who bothered to talk to him would find out that he was a likable guy.”

“Thank you for your time.” Ray said graciously, sparing the man from continuing and probably an emotional breakdown.

As the investigation team finished up, Mabel leaned over to Ray.

“This was rushed.”

He nodded, “For every previous crime, our killer did his research. He picked off victims after meticulous research. People that wouldn’t be missed. But this guy, they found him almost immediately. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in. That puts our killer at risk. His trail would be fresh. Why would he suddenly do that?”

“Because I’m here.” Mabel guessed.

“I think it’s more than that.” Ray amended, “I think he’s either running out of time or he’s finishing up. A lot of the so-called supernatural experts I spoke with mentioned celestial events and how they affect magic. The full moon is coming soon. Maybe that’s the deadline.”

“But there’s a full moon every month.” Mabel countered, “And he’s been taking his time up until now.”

Ray shrugged, “It was just a thought.”

“What I don’t understand,” Mabel muttered thoughtfully, “Is why our killer is panicking so much. Sure, we know the mode and the means. What he wants and how he’s getting it. But beyond that, we’re not that much closer. We have two suspects that now have solid alibies. We have guesses as to where he’s been and what he might look like. But no name. No place we might find him.

Ray was silent. His grey eyes fixed solely on his partner as she stared off into space. How would Mabel react if he told her his theory?


	32. What Would You Do If It Were Your Brother, Because I Don’t Have One

Mabel thought Ray was acting suspicious as they scanned the black and white screens. She was reviewing traffic cameras of the intersection, trying to locate the moment of her accident and hopefully Dipper as well.

“Why didn’t we think of this before?” She teased, elbowing her partner. It was her usual ploy to get someone to be less serious.

“Because,” Ray muttered, “You didn’t remember. Amnesia. Or don’t you remember that either?”

“Good point.”

Mabel let Ray’s snark slide off. It could have brought on by a lack of sleep or insufficient coffee. She’d insisted on coming straight to the station after they’d finished the investigation earlier that morning.

“Mabel,” he sighed, “Should you really be using police resources for something personal like this. Unless…” he paused, “Unless you think that finding your brother is somehow related to the homicide case?”

She waved him off.

“Mabel,” Ray repeated, “We should be doing our job – finding the killer.”

“Geez. Ray. Take a chill pill.” She swiveled in her chair, glancing at her watch as she spun. “It’s five thirty-eight in the morning. Nothing is open this early. We can’t investigate. Neither have the lab results come back. This case is currently at a standstill. So what if I’m taking advantage of it?”

“Then why aren’t we taking advantage of it by getting some sleep?”

Mabel rolled her eyes, “Sure. Fine. Go back to the hotel if you want, Ray.”

Ray narrowed his eyes, “We’re partners. We’re doing this together.”

“I said that _I_ would find my brother.” She spun back to face the computer screen, “I’m not requiring anyone else to help me.”

She ignored the whispered ‘Trust no one’ that bounced through the back of her brain. Stupid journals. But a thrill ran through her as well. She’d find Dipper. She’d be a twin again. The walls she’d raised against hope had been shattered last night. Not even dust remained. Everything she’d ever wanted to believe was true.

“Don’t you want my help?”

Ray had whispered the words so softly, she was certain she wasn’t meant to hear them. Feeling somewhat guilty, she let him stew. Sure, they were partners. But this ‘case’ wasn’t work related.

It was possible Dipper could help them solve the mystery. Triangulate in on the murderer with expert ease. But Pacifica had worried her with everything she’d said. Was Dipper no different than when he’d disappeared?

Mabel wasn’t planning on endangering her brother after getting him back. Nope. He would stay the hell away from the homicide case. Especially one that involved demons.

Speaking of which, she was now certain that Bill was somehow involved. He was responsible for Dipper’s disappearance and the dreams she’d had since getting closer to her brother again. All she could say was that Bill had better not be around when she found Dipper. She would make him regret his very existence, if that were even possible for a demon.

“There you are.” Ray pointed to the screen, interrupting her train of thought.

Sure enough, her past self had wandered into the view of the camera. She made her way down the sidewalk, looking lost in thought. But that changed like the flick of a switch. The grainy picture of herself froze and stared.

With breath held, Mabel and Ray’s eyes tracked across the screen. On the sidewalk parallel to past-Mabel, stood a man. His form was even more distorted than her past-self, shifting even though he wasn’t moving. Magic, Mabel realized. What she could gather from the blurry recording was that the man looked to be about the same age and build as her, he was wearing dress pants and a button up shirt.

“Is it your brother?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know.” She sighed, “It’s hard to tell with the quality this poor.”

“But it could be him?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Ray watched as the man briskly strode out of the view of the camera.

“Could we follow him on the other street cameras?”

“No.” Another sigh, “He vanished down an alley, like, a second before I passed out.” She pushed her chair away from the desk, deciding not to mention the magically enhanced anonymity.

Ray grimaced.

“I don’t like this. If it _was_ your brother, why would he just leave you there? You could have been seriously hurt.”

“Pacifica said that he ran away the first time she saw him too.”

“And that doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”

Mabel placed her hands on her hips, lips pressed into an exaggerated pout, “Ray let me have this. I just found out that my brother is alive. After thirteen years! I just want to find him. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Ray stopped himself from saying more. Mabel was right. She was putting in her best effort to stay positive and fight on. Besides, what right did he have to talk? When he’d lost custody of Nina, he’d done virtually nothing to oppose it. He’d convinced himself that it was better for her to have a stable home life, even if it was with a step-father and younger half-siblings. He’d smothered himself in his career instead.

If only he’d known Mabel then. She would have encouraged him to protect his little girl, to be a father, and to be the best.

If only he’d known Mabel better. Ray would have seen the expert farce her optimism was. She was honestly terrified of what she might find when she caught up to Dipper.


	33. I’m Working On It

It didn’t take Mabel long to apologize to Pacifica. Her watch read noon, only twelve hours after their fight. But her text was only the beginning of an apology.

“ _Sorry for blowing up at you. We should talk. Call me soon!_ ”

There was no way to know how the message was received. She didn’t blame her friend for the lack of response either. It was well deserved.

But getting the cold shoulder from Pacifica didn’t make her feel any better. Residual aches from her injuries still chewed at the edges of her consciousness. And the all-nighter she’d pulled was starting to catch up to her. Only the knowledge that her brother was out there, alive and… maybe not well, but alive, kept her going.

If only that wasn’t starting to frustrate her too.

Ray slapped a heavy stack of reports down in front of her, making her jump and shooting a short-lived spike of adrenaline through her veins. He raised a critical eyebrow.

“Autopsy from Beckett. Sample analysis from Argent. And photos from Alice. The transcripts from the Holler interrogations are in there too.”

Mabel nearly pushed them away. How could her priority be this case when her _family_ was nearby? Stan had slaved on the portal for thirty years in an attempt to return his brother from another dimension. She didn’t feel like she was living up the Pines family name this way.

But Ray was eyeing her warily.

Mabel opened the vanilla-tones files.

Ray took the seat opposite of her in their commandeered cubicle and began reading as well. Only the sound of turning pages was audible for a few minutes.

“I think solving this case will help you find your brother.” Ray said suddenly.

Mabel’s jerked up to his – calm, cool, and grey.

“Why would you say that?”

“Intuition.”

Mabel snorted, “You can’t use that excuse. It’s my excuse. Get your own.”

“It’s not like it’s copyrighted.”

Ray returned to reading and didn’t comment further.

How could he?

How could he tell Mabel that he thought her long-lost brother was somehow involved? It had been his hunch even before she’d told him that he was alive. There were too many coincidences. Too many sightings. Too many loose ends.

And she hadn’t been there with him when he investigated the red light district. Nearly every member of the supernatural community he’d shown the circle to had warded off the evil with a gesture, a muttered prayer, or by simply kicking him out.

All of them were too superstitious to summon a demon and none of them seemed capable of murder. While that didn’t eliminate them from being suspect, it was rather revealing. And then there had been that one fortune teller who _had_ been helpful. Although, the validity of her statements were still in question given that her opening line wasn’t some metaphorical mumbo-jumbo, but…

“Girl, are those space pants? Because your butt looks out of this world!”

Ray shuddered at what he was about to do. But in the name of information gathering, he would do it.

“Wow! Thanks for noticing. But I have a feeling you could tell me much more than that.”

The old crone bat her eyes suggestively, “Well of course I can. Why don’t you come closer, my dear.”

He approached the fortune teller’s stall. Not thinking about it, just putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’m wondering about magic. How does it work?”

“Silly!” The woman’s chortle was muffled by a veil, but her garnet eyes glittered with merriment, “Magic is a vast and mysterious force. None can understand it. But an individual, like myself, can become in tuned enough with it to guide and direct the force.”

“How is it ‘guided and directed’?” Ray pushed.

“My dear,” The crone lost some of her playfulness, “I may use magic for personal means and customers. But for an explanation, you would need to speak with a magic theorist.”

“Where can I find one?”

The woman narrowed her uncanny eyes, “Why?”

Uncertain, Ray showed the fortune teller the photo of the circle. His stomach clenched as red eyes reflected the light from his phone. She scanned the photo as he worried over losing his first lead.

The woman’s scratchy voice surprised him when she suddenly cackled.

“I know exactly who you’re looking for. But you don’t really want to find him.”

“Why not?”

“Forest Altair doesn’t exist.” The woman’s voice was just as suddenly full of warning, “His eyes are gold and his heart is black. A one-eyed shadow follows his steps. He’s more dangerous than anyone. He’s not human.”

“Is that why everyone else is afraid when I show them this circle?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you?”

The woman’s red eyes appeared to be glowing white, but her scratchy voice didn’t pause, “Of course I am. But I have knowledge of the future. I have one more task to fulfill in this town – curse its namesake – and then I will either return home or die. It depends on the one who tips the scale.”

Ray took a step back.

“Who might that be?”

“The brightest comet to touch the skies.”

“How are you not afraid? How can you entrust your life to this person?”

“I have not lived with regrets as you have, my dear. And I have a debt to pay the shooting star. Now leave. I’m closing up shop.”

Sure enough, the woman slammed the booth closed. Not even a peep emanated from within. Ray thought he saw something scuttle away over the darkened sidewalks, but it was probably just his eyes playing tricks on him.

Still.

Who was Forest Altair?

Ray couldn’t find his name in any records at the police station. Why would the fortune teller say he didn’t exist and then talk about him as if he were real?

He had a theory. It was crazy and outlandish. But he knew that people sometimes develop psychological coping mechanisms then they’ve undergone emotional trauma. Like and abduction. What if ‘Forest Altair’ was an alter ego of Dipper Pines?

What kind of person would he be? Mabel’s description of her brother was nerdy, clever, and occasionally bold. Would another identity be the opposite? Or maybe an extreme? Or maybe extremely unbalanced?

The supernatural community, red-eyed woman aside, was terrified of him. Wouldn’t even speak his name. But he didn’t understand their fears enough to profile Forest Altair. All he had was a name.

He couldn’t tell Mabel. But somehow he needed to let her know what they were up against.


	34. Sometimes, I Don’t Say The Right Things

After a short lunch break, Mabel and Ray filed the paperwork for Gideon’s release. Mabel didn’t want to let the showman walk – he’d done more wrong than he’d ever accounted for – but the alibi Melody provided was more than enough to prove his innocence concerning the homicide case.

She didn’t want to talk to him. But a desperate part of her was itching to ask if he knew about Dipper.

She doubted it.

She moved on to the homicide case, earnestly searching through the reports, “We must have the right evidence in here somewhere.” She muttered, once again holed up in their cubicle, “Why else would our killer get so scared?”

Holler’s supplier. The supernatural outcast. Sadistic murderer.

They were all the same person.

A knock sounded at the door. Ray offered a “come in” for Mabel as she was too distracted.

“Detective Pines.” Argent Advic, calm and breathing normally for once, stood with a stack of papers in his arms.

“Oh! Hey, Argent.” Mabel snapped herself to attention, “What’s up.”

The scientist pushed his thick glasses up his nose, “I’m sorry. I think I snooped too much. You told me the information might be classified. But I was really curious about the anomalous molecular structures.”

“It’s fine, Argent. What did you find?”

“The dust from the victims’ rooms matched the components of Holler’s Mix which is infamous for the multiple variety and unique effects. Holler mentioned a few: intelligence, levitation, growth, accelerated healing, transformation, etcetera. They sound supernatural and I heard rumors about the demonic circle you found…”

The scientist swallowed.

“I found a shop downtown that specializes in herbal remedies and asked if they had anything to that effect. They skeptically recommended me to their, I quote, ‘less reputable competitors near the red light district’.”

Mabel sat forward in her chair expectantly.

“A place called _Pondering Thyme_ boasts of herbs with the same side effects.” Argent explained, “I didn’t go myself!” he hastily added, “I thought you’d like to check it out.”

“Thank you!” Mabel offered a thousand-watt smile.

Ray wrapped up their material, “Let’s go.”

“Yep.” Mabel agreed.

Argent blinked at the empty room, which the two detectives had vacated in a proverbial whirlwind. He was left alone.

“No problem.” The scientist whispered to no one.

In the car, Mabel could barely sit still.

“One of the employees could be the supplier. Find the one that matches Holler’s description. Bingo! Case closed!”

“Don’t jump the gun.” Ray cautioned, “I know you want to finish this case so you can find your brother, but we need to be careful. If that circle is anything to go by, our killer is dangerous in ways we can’t predict or counter.”

“I know. I know.”

“You don’t sound prepared.”

“Please, Ray. You’re talking to the Sharp Shooting Star of the Sacramento Police Department.”

“I thought you hated that nickname.”

“I do.”

Ray rolled his eyes.

When they arrived, Mabel was out the door before the car even rolled to a stop. Ray threw it into park, cringing as the gears complained audibly, but it was necessary to chase after his partner. She was prone to finding trouble far too quickly.”

The herbal remedy shop was poised between two sagging apartment buildings that cast it into shadows. Neon lights lit the old brickwork, saying ‘Open’, ‘Cure-alls’, and ‘Tinctures’. The last time Ray had even seen the word _tincture_ was in an old book about Arthurian Legends.

Mabel was up the steps in a flash, the welcome bell jingling merrily behind her. Ray had to jog to keep up.

“What can I do for you, miss?” the tall man behind the counter was already saying when Ray arrived. He had thick, round glasses that magnified his eyes to bulbous proportions. Gangly limbs didn’t make him look intimidating, but with the sleazy attitude he exuded, Ray wouldn’t dismiss him just yet.

“I’m looking for something that’s a little obscure.” Mabel chirped with just the perfect degree of uncertainty in her voice, “I believe it’s called _Percepshroom_.”

The man – his nametag read Colin – wagged his finger, “You’re quite perceptive already if you know that name, miss. Usually, we keep the sources a secret. The trade name for what you’re looking for is _Intelligrow_.”

“Of course. My bad.”

“It’s right over here.” Colin emerged from behind his counter to point Mabel to a shelf filled with glass jars.

Ray cleared his throat, getting Colin’s attention, “Is there anyone else working here? I’d like some assistance as well.”

Colin’s magnified eyes darted between them, Mabel then Ray then back to Mabel again.

“Yes. Let me get my girlfriend. She’s upstairs.”

He disappeared up a worn staircase.

“ _Percepshroom_?” Ray queried.

Mabel shrugged it off with a smile.

“You continue to astound me with your supernatural knowledge.” He teased, “If I hadn’t spent the past four months constantly by your side. I might think you were a suspect.”

Mabel rolled her eyes.

Colin returned shortly with a wispy, blonde woman whom he introduced as Heather. Her eyes were half lidded, like she was either high or half-asleep.

“What can I do for you?” She asked in a breathy voice once Colin went back to assisting Mabel. Ray did not miss the way her eyes wandered. But he pulled himself together.

“I’ve been to a few places like this in California, where I’m from, and I often run into a problem with consistent quality. Can I ask who your supplier is?”

Heather punched him playfully, “We are the suppliers, silly.”

“Where do you get the supplies?”

The woman leaned in, too close, “That’s a secret, silly. But I’d be willing to tell you… under certain circumstances.” Her fingers brushed his chest.

His mid raced. But the only way he could think of to get out of the situation was probably the worst idea ever.

“Forest Altair.”

Ray did it anyway.

“What do you know about him?”

Heather had frozen at the question, hand still resting on his chest. Terrible timing, really.

Normally, Ray would have been ready for the right hook. He had four years of military experience, three years of security work, and five years of police experience. But between his compromised mental state and the woman standing in his line of sight, he didn’t see it coming.

Before he knew it, his face was stinging, Colin’s fist still clenched as he seethed. Mabel was at Ray’s side in an instant.

“Get out.” Colin spat.

Mabel, all steel, stepped up to the furious man. She flicked open her badge, calmly saying, “If you don’t answer our questions here, you’ll have to answer them in an interrogation room.”

Heather was shivering now, partially shielded in Colin’s arms.

“You come to our shop.” He snapped, “You try something with my woman. You ask a question like _that_. And then you threaten to arrest us. How is that fair?”

“It’s the law.” Mabel’s composure was unshaken, “We’re not trying to start anything. We’re trying to get answers.”

Heather laughed, a short-lived, hysterical burst of sound.

“What?” Mabel snapped.

Colin shook his head, “Forest Altair is mad, deceptive, and powerful.”

“What do you mean?”

The couple looked around wildly, but it was only the four of them in the shop.

“He’ll know if we tell you anything.” Heather whispered, “He knows lots of things.”

The phrase rung familiar in Mabel’s mind, but she shoved it aside to deal with more important things, “Tell me.” She pressed.

“About two years ago,” Heather spoke frantically, “A man came to Salem. He said he was warlock of sorts. He wanted to set up a trade in our district. He was very friendly – charismatic – and very knowledgeable. Almost everyone in our community started going to him for advice and such. He’d tell you anything as long as you promised to return him a small favor ‘one day’.” She gulped, “Then bad things started happening to the people who’d made deals with him…”

“What kind of ‘bad things’?”

Colin interjected, “People had blackouts. Others said they had been shoved out of their bodies and just floated around for a while. Some had horrific nightmares.”

Mabel nodded, “Did this Forest guy ever say anything about demons?”

The couple went silent.

“Answer the question.” Ray demanded.

“No.” Heather squeaked. Her eyes were now shut tight. Tears leaked from the corners. “No. But we should have seen it. Gosh. What kind of supernatural experts are we if we didn’t even notice.”

Mabel waited for clarification.

“His eyes were gold.” Colin’s voice was without inflection, “His presence disturbed wards and seals. It was almost like his aura was insidious.”

Mabel felt her skin crawl, as if the walls suddenly had eyes and were watching her.

“Is he human?” Ray asked.

“As far as we know.” Colin whispered.

“Where can we find him?”

Both heather and Colin stared openly at Mabel, “Why would you ever want to go looking for him?”

“Because I’m going to stop him.”

Maybe those gawking stares were merited. She was crazy, after all.


	35. So You’re Saying, He’s Not What He Seems

The moment Mabel and Ray stepped out of the shop, the neon signs flicked off. Commotion from within indicated that the proprietors of _Pondering Thyme_ were now packing up to get out of town. Mabel felt bad for uprooting them, but it was eclipsed by the happiness of finding a strong lead. And a name.

Speaking of which.

She spun on her partner. His stoic face informed her that he’d been expecting this. Good.

“Where did that come from?”

“What?”

“How did you know about Forest Altair?”

Ray looked away, “I heard the name the first time I went to the red light district. Shortly after your injury.”

“Damnit, Ray.” She stamped her foot, “You can’t be withholding information like this…”

He cut her off with an excuse, “It didn’t come from a very reputable source…”

“’Reputable source’?” She fumed, “That’s your excuse. This case is steeped in the supernatural and having a ‘reputable source’ is your concern? We need to share _whatever_ we learn, no matter the source. What happened to all that talk about being partners? What happened to ‘you can tell me’?”

Ray was silent. Mabel was right. And the way she turned his words around hurt like a sharp knife.

“What’s been eating at you, Ray?”

A minute passed.

Her partner drew a deep breath, “You’ve been a witch hunt, Mabel.”

“Well this is certainly the town for it.” She muttered to herself.

Ray heard, “Very funny.” He said without enthusiasm, “But the fact of the matter is: you’ve been refusing to see the most obvious solution. Occam’s razor. We’re looking for a criminal with supernatural knowhow and your supernatural genius brother. It sounds to me like our search just might be one and the same.”

Mabel’s face slackened. He had been right. She was caught completely off guard by his theory.

“My brother would _never_ do those things!”

Ray’s expression was serious, “From what you tell me, your brother would never abandon you either. And that’s what he did. He may not be the person you remember anymore.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Mabel whispered around a constricting throat.

“Because the evidence…”

“Damn the evidence.” Tears were building in her eyes, threatening to spill, “I spent the last thirteen years thinking Dipper was dead. Now I know he’s alive. I just want to find him. I just want my brother back!”

“Mabel.” Ray begged, “Please, listen to me…”

“No! Just leave me alone!” Her voice carried, strung out, drawing stares from other pedestrians on the sidewalk. Mabel didn’t care. Scrubbing her eyes with her suit sleeve, she stormed off, venturing deeper into the haze of neon lights as night fell. She walked until her breath evened out and sobs weren’t catching in her ribcage.

As her journey came to an end, she realized she was lost. Surrounded by bars, pawn shops, and palm readers on every side, she checked her phone only to curse. She hadn’t charged it during her all-nighter and now it was dead.

“Need some help, honey?” a voice queried from a nearby fortune telling stall set up on the sidewalk.

A little caustically, she answered, “Isn’t it sort of late for street vendors?”

“It’s never a bad time to know one’s future.” The woman purred.

Mabel rolled her eyes, but took a step towards the stall anyway, “I’m not looking for my future. I just need directions to the Marriott.”

“That’s too easy. Are you sure you don’t want something more?”

“Lady, there are a lot of things I want, but I don’t think you can give them to me. Directions should do just fine.”

The fortune teller was quiet for a moment, drawing Mabel’s attention. Out of habit, she noticed the woman’s bulbous eyes, ruby irises, and white matt of hair. The rest of her face – nose and mouth – were concealed by an ornate veil; her body swathed in a russet cloak.

Suddenly, the woman’s eyes glowed white, prompting Mabel to take a cautionary step back. In an echoing voice, the fortune teller uttered, “ _To repay the help you once gave me, I’ll point you to your destiny_.” Her winkled, knobby hand rose out from under her cloak, crooked finger indicating the sidewalk that led even further into the darkened streets. “ _Your other half wanders alone, fight your hardest to bring him home._ ”

Doubtfully, Mabel asked, “Are you sure about that?”

“Get going, child, or you’re going to miss your chance!”

That irritated, loud, scratchy voice abruptly clicked in her memory, “Hand Witch?” she guessed.

The witch cackled. A hand crawled onto her shoulder and snapped its rotting fingers, master and stall went up in smoke. When it cleared, the street was empty.

But Mabel wasn’t interested in that right now. Squaring her shoulders, she set off into the night with a determined stride.


	36. Masochism Can Be Both Physical And Mental

Mabel wasn’t sure where she was gong _exactly_. Magic worked in strange ways. But the way she saw it, if Hand Witch told her to walk ‘that way’, she’d do it. By some twist of fate, she was destined to cross paths with her brother, be it in five minutes, an hour, or thirty days. She’d do it. Again. Again. And again.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting impatient.

“C’mon, Dipper,” She muttered, “Where are you?”

The street she’d been walking along disappeared into a wide, pedestrian avenue. Bars lined each side. Drunks, both of age and under age meandered through the mess of establishments. It wasn’t as decrepit as the red light district. Up-kept while still being unkempt. When she passed one of those heavily outdated, blue emergency polls, she realized she wandered close to Willamette campus.

Was it a weekend? The passage of time since she’d arrived in Salem had been blurred. She worked every day to find a killer. If the day of the week wasn’t critical information, it was ignored.

Bouncers and campus police alike were out and about, keeping the general peace. Well, as peaceful as it could be with that commotion around the corner. Mabel paused, unsure for a moment whether or not she should investigate. Her curiosity won out.

Rounding a corner Mabel caught sight of a squad car parked on the side of the street. An obnoxious group of drunks staggered by, their forebrains inactivated enough to let slide the great idea of pestering the cops on duty. Mabel knew, from her own days as an officer, how short patience grew after a few hours of such abuse. So it didn’t surprise her when an officer climbed out of the car to snag a straggler from the group.

What _did_ surprise her was how familiar said straggler was.

“Dipper!” she let out a ‘hushed exclamation of wonder’ as Soos would say.

She hurried over. Even at a distance, she could tell that the officer was issuing a warning and offering advice that would probably do some other college kid some good. Instead Dipper was silently suffering though. He studied his shoes, scuffing them absently on the cement. And the clatter of commotion she made as she drew closer grabbed his wandering attention.

Dipper looked up, brown eyes meeting her matching ones. It was probably just the darkness playing tricks on her, but Dipper’s irises looked all wrong: uncharacteristically flat and emotionless. Something indistinguishable flitted across his features. Suddenly, Dipper began to retreat, attempting to back away from the conversation.

The officer snagged Dipper’s arm before he’d made it out of reach.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished talking to you.”

Dipper yanked furiously, trying to loosen his arm from the officer’s grip.

“Stop.” The officer commanded, “If you continue to resist like this, I’m going to take you in to the station.”

That didn’t help his cause any. Dipper, silently, continued to wrench his arm away. Rosettes bloomed on his white dress shirt, which Mabel recognized almost immediately, she’d seen too much of it recently. Blood.

“Stop.” She commanded the officer grabbing the arm that restrained her brother, “You’re hurting him!”

“Only because he’s struggling so much,” the officer countered.

Mabel didn’t want to take her eyes off her brother – didn’t want him to get away. But he wouldn’t meet her gaze, returning to stare at the sidewalk even as he continued to pull away. More blood seeped into his shirtsleeves. Why was he bleeding anyway? She didn’t have any choice but to try and talk some sense into this awfully persistent police officer.

“Hey.” She pulled at the officer’s grip, trying to use her injured hand to peel his fingers away, “I said _you’re hurting him_! Let go!!”

“What,” the officer finally glanced at Mabel, “You can’t tell me what to do, Lady.”

“I’m a detective. Yes, I can tell you what to do.”

“Prove it.”

“As soon as you let go of this young man. If you even bothered to look, you’d also notice that he’s not underage and he’s not even drunk.”

“You’re not a detective and you can’t give me orders, until you prove otherwise. I’ve had it with this punk, I’m taking him in.”

“For what?” Mabel scoffed, “He hasn’t even done anything except have the bad luck of being lumped with irresponsible college student and being stopped by the most clueless cop on the street. And let me tell you, I know quite a few cops.”

“He’s disturbing the peace.” The officer objected.

Mabel was just about done with this guy.

“He hasn’t said a word since he’s had to listen to _you_. He’s practically a saint!”

“Now listen here, lady…”

Mabel decked him.

It served two purposes. He finally let go of Dipper and he finally shut up. As a bonus, it relieved her pent up frustration. The officer stumbled back, but managed to stay on his feet, good for him. But Mabel wasn’t interested in his ability to recover at the moment.

She spun to find her brother.

It seemed that the moment Dipper had managed to break away, he’d taken off. He was already half way down the block, walking briskly – not running. She could catch him! There was definitely something wrong. Not just his arm. His eyes. His countenance.

It was Dipper… but it wasn’t.

It was almost like one of his episodes. The kind he got when he stood at the edge of the woods and stared into its depths for too long.

She wasn’t going to let him disappear again.

Mabel probably made it all of one step before she was plowed over. For once, she was grateful for the splint on her wrist or it might have been broken. As it were, hot pain lanced up her arm and she cried out. Another set of hands were struggling to pin her wrists as she fought back.

“What the hell!”

She’d seriously underestimated that officer, his stupidity, his resilience, and his boldness.

“Assaulting an officer,” The man grunted, “Is unacceptable no matter who you are. Forget the kid. I’m taking you in.”

“He’s not a ‘kid’!” She growled. Desperately, she looked up to see Dipper turn a corner. Out of sight now. Still. She could catch him. She could.

“Let me go!” She demanded, “You can’t do this!”

“Yes I can.”

Cool steel tightening on her wrists destroyed every last hope. Handcuffs.

“No.”

The officer didn’t hear her silent sobs.

“Dipper. Come back!”


	37. I’m Freefalling Because Things Are Falling Into Place

This again.

The red room. Plush curtains draping every wall and brushing the checkered floor. The pinstriped chairs located unconventionally far away from each other. In a normal space, you wouldn’t even be able to carry on a conversation.

But this was the dreamscape. Anything was possible.

The space around her warped and the other chairs were filled. The triangle. And the man.

Bill’s eyes were pinched at the corners, like he would be smiling if he had a mouth instead of a bowtie. And Dipper. He was smiling serenely.

For the first time, she earnestly studied her brother.

They’d aged about the same, smooth features making them look younger than they really were. His soft, brown hair hadn’t changed, giving her the nostalgic urge to give him a noogie he wouldn’t soon forget. But he was slighter than her. She’d put on a lot of muscle when training to be an officer and maintained it even after becoming a detective. Dipper looked like he might blow away at the slightest breeze. He looked wrong in that too formal suit with that look in his eyes.

Same as they had been in the waking world. Dull.

Where Bill’s eye was full of secrets, Dipper’s were empty.

Why?

Dipper rose, purposefully walking across the room toward Mabel. She didn’t dare move.

He kissed her on the cheek – full of brotherly affection – and whispered the culprit in her ear.

“It was me, Mabel. It was me all along.”

She woke with a cold start.

Were it because of the dream, or the uncomfortable mattress, or the chilliness of her cell she didn’t know. But Mabel sat straight up. She was shivering. Her suit jacket had been confiscated. Her blanket had been snatched by the occupant of a nearby cell. And her brow was beaded with sweat.

She gripped the bars beside the bed. She’d promised herself she would never sleep in a cell again. So much for that. But it barely mattered right now. Her mind was racing.

Beginning to pace the length of her tiny enclosure, Mabel wracked her brain. Who would be capable of supplying Holler with his ingredients? Dipper. Who would meticulously track the consumers and pick out the best ones for murder? Dipper. Who would know about demonology and be able to produce a summoning circle? Dipper. Who would be knowledgeable enough to know about stem cells? Dipper. Who would not be in any record or reference for an ongoing investigation? Dipper.

It was obvious. Ray was right. She had been willfully blind.

And the wounds on Dipper’s arms confirmed it. Self-inflicted, probably. If that look in his eyes was anything to go by, he was under Bill’s influence. She didn’t believe for a minute that the demon’s masochistic habits had abated over the years. What if he was possessing Dipper to perform the murders, hurting himself in the process?

Forrest Altair. A not-so-literal reversal of Dipper Pines. The ‘Forrest’ part was obvious. But wasn’t ‘Altair’ the name of star or constellation in the Summer Triangle?

Terrifying. All-knowing. Making deals. It was so obvious once it clicked.

Bipper.

She had to get out. Now.

Like a godsend, the doors from the main department to the jail cell opened, revealing none other than Detective Raymond Clark. She could hug him right now.

“Ray!” Mabel stuck her arm out and waved her partner down, “Down here.”

Ray didn’t wither under the gazes of the other occupants, he held fast. Their eyes followed him, amounting to zero privacy when he arrived at her cell. Without a word, he produced the key, setting her free. He handed back her jacket and phone – now fully charged – and delivered a severe, gray-eyed glare.

“Thank you.” She whispered, “And I’m sorry.”

He accepted the apology. But still, a hand ran down his face to attest to his exhaustion.

“I had to do a lot of talking to get you out of here.” He said quietly, “Remember, this isn’t our department. We don’t have any favors to cash. You had better have a good reason for punching a cop.”

“He was being an idiot and he was hurting Dipper.”

Ray tipped his head. It was a barely passable reason. But a reason nonetheless.

“He’s the murderer.” She whispered.

Ray heard.

He didn’t rub it in. They couldn’t celebrate finding the killer when it was Mabel’s brother.

“Maybe he’s the one doing it.” She continued, “But something is very wrong. He’s not… right.”

Ray took her arm, “Let’s talk about this outside.”

A headache drove into her cranium the moment they stepped out of the jail, a combination of her healing concussion and the bright sunlight. It looked like it was nearly afternoon.

“How long did I sleep?” She hissed.

“A while.” Ray answered without humor, “You were wiped yesterday. Your injuries are still healing too. You’re stressed and emotionally wrung out by this case. It didn’t surprise me. I was just coming to wake you, though.”

“Some reason?”

They passed Detective Werner’s desk. The homicide case notes sat atop it. Someone had turned on a fan nearby to ward off the summer heat. Ray snatched a clipboard with a single sheet and handed it to Mabel.

Gosh, she never wanted to see one of these again.

A missing person’s report.

For Pacifica Northwest.

“She didn’t show up to teach any of her lectures yesterday and today. It was officially over twenty-four hours this morning. Her colleagues at the university have been trying to contact her with no luck.”

Mabel pulled her cell phone from her inner pocket, navigating her messaging app. The one she’d sent to Pacifica yesterday – almost twenty-four hours ago – was still marked as ‘unread’.

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry Mabel.” Ray was saying, “I know this is a lot on your plate…”

“Hold up a second, Ray.”

The pair was silent. The rotating fan swung back, kicking up papers that the clipboard had previously pinned down. The reports scattered across the floor.

Mabel bent to pick them up, recognizing Beckett’s handwriting. The coroner’s most recent report included another list of progenitor cells, liberal amount of highlights, and a note at the top.

‘He has them all.’

It felt like he chest had bottomed out and now her heart raced, out of control.

There were ten victims.

A pentagram.

And a sacrifice.

Pacifica.

Whatever Dipper was doing. It was happening. Today.

She had to stop him.

She had to redeem him.


	38. We’ve Got Some History Between Us That Needs Settling

“Damn it all!” Mabel growled, punching the gas to that the car spun out. Again.

The third time was not the charm in this case, as this was the third country road they’d tried. Only to find another dead end. Another perfect, uninterrupted wall of trees.

“I’m sorry.” Ray mumbled, looking both guilty and white in the face. Mabel continued to tear across the countryside. “I thought it was that way.”

“Don’t you have Robbie’s map?”

Ray nodded.

“According to it we were in the right place the first time.”

“How can that be? Nothing looked the same. The forest was different. The path was missing.” Anxiety curled in her stomach as she glanced out the window. “And now it looks like it’s going to storm, which will only make this harder.”

“I don’t know.” Ray sighed.

Mabel accelerated the car, kicking up gravel. Down another country lane. And once again, they skidded to a stop. Mabel pounded the palm of her hand on the steering wheel.

Outside, dark clouds gathered overhead. It had been humid all day, now the sky was fit to burst. Sunlight was swallowed up, even though it was still early afternoon.

Mabel pressed her forehead to the steering wheel and closed her eyes, focusing. It could be the brewing storm or her mind playing tricks on her, but she thought she could feel something… wrong in the air.

It brushed against her spine again, sending a shiver through her body that wasn’t the result of the car’s powerful AC. It felt like someone was watching her. She distinctly remembered it from the last time she’d visited the shack. But now it was so much stronger.

“Come on.” She told Ray. Like a switch had been flipped, she was now quiet and calm.

They climbed out of the car.

Mabel took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of pines, the charged atmosphere, and the tingle of magic.

They were close.

Dipper must have warded the area in preparation for his plan. Illusions were meant to keep people from wandering in by accident. But she doubted they’d be strong enough to stop her if she marched in on purpose.

They dove into the woods, following only Mabel’s intuition.

In the depths of the trees Mabel could see the mirage more clearly. Crisp, glittering pines peppered the inner spaces at a greater frequency than naturally possible. Mist crawled, milky and fluid, over the soft ground. And under the coverage of the canopy, everything was almost black – monochrome.

Mabel heard a rustle as Ray drew his pistol.

“Why didn’t we bring the whole police force?” He queried, voice tight, “This is creepy as hell. And we’re going up against a serial killer.”

“A serial killer and his demon.” Mabel corrected, “Which is exactly why we _didn’t_ bring the whole police force. A demon can manipulate anyone and everyone who doesn’t know what they’re doing. The whole police force wouldn’t be able to handle it. Even with just the two of us, this confrontation could very well get very messy, very quickly.” More softly, she added, “And I don’t want to risk anything happening to Dipper… serial killer or not.”

It was still hard to accept. She didn’t want to. But all the evidence was stacked against him. Dipper – or maybe Bill Cipher – had better have a good explanation.

“Will ‘just the two of us’ be able to handle it?”

Mabel pursed her lips, pressing on through the undergrowth.

“I don’t know.”

“He has a hostage.”

“I didn’t forget about Pacifica.” Mabel said firmly, “I don’t know if she got dragged into this because she’s had the most contact with Dipper. Or if it’s because she told me Dipper was alive and set me on his trail. Either way, we’re saving her too.”

“’Too’?”

“Dipper.”

“We’re saving your bother?” Ray stopped, “Mabel, explain this. You haven’t told me everything yet.”

Mabel sighed, but stopped anyway. Ray deserved to know. He was going up against Bill Cipher, after all. And he’d followed her lead though the entire case. He always supported her, even when the things she’d said seemed farfetched. He’d figured out the killer before her. He was every bit as good of a detective as her, and more.

“The demon we’re probably dealing with goes by the title of ‘Bill Cipher’. He’s smart, clever, tricky, and powerful. When we were twelve, for some reason, Bill grew fixated with Dipper. He’d appear in Dipper’s dreams without a summons. He’d tempt and mess with Dipper at any opportune moment, usually when Dipper was tired, stressed out, and confused.

“From what I understood, he always offered Dipper knowledge. If you knew my brother, you’d understand how tantalizing that deal sounded. Dip was working on ‘solving the mysteries of Gravity Falls’ and trying to find the other of the journals detailing the paranormal phenomenon of the town.

“One time, in order to get a lead, Dipper caved and made a deal with Bill.”

“Bill possessed him.” Mabel told Ray quietly, watching his usually stoic expression crack. Surprise and horror flit across his face. She continued, “Bipper was awful. Masochistic. I managed to stop him, because Dipper had been on the brink of exhaustion. But the consequences carried on for a long time.”

Mabel swallowed, remembering her fault in the situation. Her brother’s eyes glowing gold. Patching up bruises and punctures as her brother winced, trying to remain silent. He’d slept for a full twelve hours after that only because she’d knocked him out with cold medicine. The nightmares came later.

“So,” Ray began slowly, “You’re suggesting that your brother is possessed?”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly?”

Mabel sighed, “Dipper was, and still is, complicated. I love my brother. But there are things I wouldn’t put past him. Compounding on the fact that I haven’t known him for thirteen years. Well… anything can happen.”

Ray suddenly set out in some undetermined direction, “Then let’s go find him. We’ll deal with whatever comes our way instead of standing around postulating.”

Mabel ginned and followed him, “We’re detectives, Ray. Standing around postulating is what we do.”

“Not today.” His military training was thrumming through his limbs as he trudged onward.

The thrill of a mystery hunt pulsed through Mabel’s veins, “Today we act.”


	39. The Art Of War

They found the shack nestled within a perfect circle of trees. Clouds swirled overhead, condensing and flashing with heat lightning. Mabel could feel the magic in the air as it coated her teeth and filled her mouth with the taste of metal.

Her gun wasn’t in her hands.

She hadn’t decided whether or not she was going to use it.

At her shoulder, Ray was tense. His gun was gripped so tight she could detect the slightest tremor in his hands. He’d never faced anything like this before.

“What’s the plan, Detective Pines?”

Mabel pressed her lips together and assessed the structure. It was as rickety as the first time she laid eyes on it. Thin, glass windows were greyed out with a smoky residue. Candles, Mabel realized. The ritual was close to starting, if it hadn’t already.

They needed to hurry.

“Don’t listen to anything Bill Cipher says. Try to keep your attention on the hostage, she’s a sacrifice. We need to do whatever we can to delay the ritual. Don’t draw any blood, it’ll activate magic arrays. Mess up anything that looks important.”

Ray figured he shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but Mabel’s knowledge of demonology was slightly unnerving. ‘Know thy enemy’, he guessed, but that didn’t ease the knot in his stomach.

He didn’t have any more time to think about it.

Mabel held up three fingers. One by one, they curled into a fist. And she made a sharp gesture. They were moving in.

With her natural ferocity and pent-up frustration, Mabel kicked down the door, shattering the decayed wood off its hinges. It fell forward with a satisfying _smack_ alerting all the occupants inside to their new visitors. Not that there would have been any place for them to hide in the cramped space.

The demolished furniture that had been in the shack previously was gone, making room for several layers of concentric circles chalked onto the floorboards. Tall, stately candles burned brightly at the corners of the array. And in the center, stood the culprit.

Dipper Pines.

That feeling of being watched reached its apex as golden eyes and slitted pupils turned on the detectives for the first time. A smile grew, creeping wider, until sharp incisors and pink gums were exposed.

“Bipper.” Mabel muttered.

The possessed man heard anyway, answering with a cackle.

“You’re a bit early, Shooting Star.” His voice was strident – too high and oddly cadenced, “Pine Tree’s pine trees didn’t work as well as he planned.”

Mabel tightened her fists.

“Oh well,” Bipper said casually, stepping to the side to reveal his hostage, “Little Warrior, our guests have arrived, just like I said.”

Pacifica’s arms and legs were bound. She was perched on the edge of a chair glaring viciously at Bipper. She looked terrible, honestly; it was obvious she hadn’t slept much in the past few days and there were black tracks under her eyes, undoubtedly from tears mixed with mascara.

“Mabel, he’s…”

“I know.”

Ray had leveled his gun at the possessed man, not that he was planning to pull the trigger. No bloodshed. Mabel had been explicit. And he trusted her.

But he didn’t like the way those eyes appeared to have a light of their own. Or how that face reminded him so much of his partner.

Bipper smirked at Ray as if reading his thoughts.

“As good as it is to see you again, Shooting Star, I do have some work to finish.” Bipper pulled a knife from his belt and pressed the tip into his finger. Fresh blood welled up, and he strode to the edge of the circle to add runes to the already intricate array. Bipper ignored all the other occupants of the shack as he went about his task.

Mabel analyzed the circle. None of it seemed familiar. She had never been as good at these things as Dipper. But anything made by Bill had to be _bad news_.

She resorted to the standard ‘Mabel’ approach. Bipper was now a good distance from his hostage, no other obvious weapon besides the knife in his hands. So, with Ray covering her, she rushed towards her friend.

“Mabel, don’t…”

Pacifica’s warning was cut off as Mabel discovered, too late, what it was for. She crashed into an invisible barrier as blue light alit the outer circle.

Another ward.

And a physical one at that.

It sent Mabel reeling back. It had surprised her more than hurt her, but the impact was making her head throb – a combination of her accelerated heart rate and past injuries. She hissed in indignation.

“Tisk, tisk, Shooting Star.” Bipper chastised without looking up. “You forget that I know lots of things, including your usual tactics. You won’t win as easily as you did that one time with code to Stan’s safe.”

Thirteen years ago, it had been so much simpler. A single NARF dart to an old wooden door and a conveniently located of a memory of the bottomless pit. Although, in the end, Bill’s failure had led to the problem of Gideon’s unfulfilled deal…

Speaking of which.

“Who did you make a deal with, Bill?” Mabel hissed, “And what kind of deal would cost the lives of ten people.”

Bipper braced his hands on his knees and stood, whirling on Mabel with that leering smile still on his face. “Pine Tree, of course. Though I will admit, I let him off easy.”

“Why would my brother make a deal with you?” Mabel sounded more accusing than questioning.

Bipper threw back his head and laughed, stretching it out for an uncomfortably long time. Mabel knew from experience.

“Oh man, Shooting Star, you are a riot.” Bipper managed between chuckles, “It’s funny how dumb you are.”

He crossed the inside of the circle again, standing behind Pacifica and absently touching her unkempt hair. Pacifica grimaced, but there was Northwest steel in her eyes.

“Let me put it simply.” Bipper said, raising his half-lidded gaze to Mabel, “Thirteen years ago, Pine Tree comes running to me for answers. I give them to him. Now it’s time for him to pay me back.”

“Dipper would never trust you.” Mabel shouted.

“Maybe not.” Bipper hummed, “But I believe you humans have an expression that says something about ‘the lesser of two evils’. Sound familiar?”

It was like Bipper’s knife had been driven through her chest and twisted inside her. Bill was implying that her own brother trusted her less than a demon. There was no way that was true. Right?

“Then why do you need to possess Dipper to fulfill his end of the deal?” Pacifica calm voice broke the mounting silence.

Bipper sighed, “Little Warrior, you talk too much.” He grabbed her hair with one hand and suddenly the other hand held an axe. The head of the axe rested on Pacifica’s collar bone and the sharp edge brushed her throat. Pacifica’s eyes filled with panic and Mabel became acutely aware of her inability to cross the barrier that divided them.

“Dipper!” Mabel yelled desperately. He had to be around her somewhere. Invisible. But maybe he could do something to stop Bipper. There was no way he would want this.

“Oh, he’s coming, Shooting Star.” Bipper cackled, “Just you wait.”

It was like the strings had been cut on a marionette. Bipper’s posture went slack and his glowing eyes fell closed. Ray, shot Mabel a confused look, but her gaze was fully fixed on her brother. Her fists were tight at her sides, her whole body tense.

When the culprit opened his eyes once again, there was a faraway look in them. Even across the space and magic barriers that separated them, Mabel could see that Dipper’s pupils were small pin-points. His irises blown and flat.

“Dipper!” she called. He was the real deal. If she could only snap him out of it.

Dipper’s grip on the axe tightened again, bringing the blade up to the fragile skin of Pacifica’s throat. Pacifica stretched as far as she could, but she could only go so far.

Time was running out.

“Dipper!”

Sharp steel cut skin. Blood welled and rolled down Pacifica’s neck. She didn’t make a sound.

“Dipper.” Mabel whispered this time, unbelieving. Her gaze was transfixed on the small rivulet of blood. Only moments remained until it reached a precipice and fell to the floor.

The floor.

It creaked beneath her feet as she shifted her weight.

“Ray!” She commanded, “Shoot the floorboards near the circle. Try to break up the wood that completes the array.”

His reaction time was flawless, as always. In less than a moment he had unloaded a clip into the old wood. Her eardrums rang as the gunshots contained within the shack assaulted her ears. Even that wasn’t enough to wake up Dipper.

But it served its purpose. A wash of magic raced outward as the exterior circle was shattered.

Dipper’s defenses were gone, he knew it. All the same, it must have surprised him to have lost them so soon. He paused for a fraction of a second. That was all the time Pacifica needed to act.


	40. I’ve Never Been One For Hesitation

With her right hand, Pacifica grabbed the shaft of the axe, pushing it away from her. She drove her left elbow back into Dipper’s stomach, viciously. Retribution, no doubt.

Dipper stumbled back and Pacifica stumbled forward. The axe bit into the soft wooden floor with a muted thump where it fell between them.

The ritual had been arrested for the moment.

Mabel and Ray rushed forward to Pacifica’s side as she pressed her sleeve to the wound on her neck. Mabel noted that only the outer circle provided warding, which left her in the dark about the other circles. What were their purposes?

She looked to her brother for a clue. But he was just as expressionless as he had been before.

“That didn’t snap him out of it.” Mabel muttered to herself.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Even when he’s not possessed, he’s not fully _there_ , if you know what I mean.” Pacifica said shallowly. She was trying not to move too much and agitate her wound.

“I know what you mean…” Mabel protested, her brow pressed together, “But we used to use loud sounds and physical contact to wake him up…”

Pacifica eyed her, “You never told me about this.”

“I never told anyone.”

“Why?”

Dipper appeared to have recovered sufficiently. His eyes began to glow, white this time. Streams of magic dissipated off his hand as he raised it toward them. Mabel knew what that meant.

“Now is not the time, Pacifica!” she yelled, “Take cover! Incoming spell!!”

Ray bodily dragged the two out of the circle. But whatever magic Dipper had invoked obviously had a wider range than the arrays. A starburst of light burst from underneath their feet, sending them rocketing in different directions.

The next thing Mabel knew, she was gasping, trying to catch her breath. She’d been thrown against a wall by some sort of magical force. Ray seemed to be suffering the same fate. And Pacifica… well, simply put, their rescue effort wasn’t going as planned.

Pacifica had been thrown back into the middle of the circle.

As Pacifica struggled to reorient herself, Dipper crouched down beside her. Deliberately, he peeled her hand off of her wound and manipulated her wrist to wipe the blood-covered sleeve over the floor. The brown stain simply added to the mess that was the dilapidated shack, but the second, outer circle of chalk lit up with intense, gold light.

The dirty shack was drained of what remaining color it had as a black void tore its way into existence in the center of the circle. Dipper’s eyes were fixed on it as it resolved into an all-too-familiar shape, edged in flames. A mad cackle, filled the air around them. A single eye blinked open. And with a _pop_ Bill Cipher materialized in his full glory.

“That took you long enough, Pine Tree.” Bill commented, floating up to Dipper’s side and putting a spindly hand on his shoulder, “Shooting Star can be a handful. I know.”

“Bill.” Mabel grit her teeth as she climbed to her feet. “What have you done to Dipper?”

“Nothing really.” Bill pulled his top hat out of thin air and placed it on the angle above his eye, “You know how Pine Tree has a one track mind. This circle,” Bill gestured to the array on the floor, “has been his sole focus for a while now. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s giving you the cold shoulder. Right, Pine Tree?”

To everyone’s surprise, Dipper nodded.

“There you have it.” Bill said conversationally, “Pine Tree is busy. Be a good sister and let him off the hook.”

“Not this time.” Mabel muttered under her breath, “Not ever again.”

“Suit yourself.”

Bill summoned his cane to his hands. Something about his countenance had changed. The golden light that effused off the demon’s body had grown in intensity. Bill expanded to three times his original size, the brickwork details etched in his body grew more defined.

“But I won’t let you stop us now.”

“’Us’?” Mabel echoed Bill’s strange proclamation. Since when did demons work with humans?

Bill floated forward and Dipper stepped forward in tandem. Bill twirled his cane and Dipper pinned Pacifica’s wrist to the floor in the center of the circle. Simply the way they moved in accordance gave Mabel the chills.

There was some sort of connection forged between them. The deal. She didn’t know the details. But she was a detective. She would figure it out.

Bill blocked her view of her brother and her best friend. Mabel growled. There weren’t words for how much she hated this creature.

“Now.” Bill pointed his index finger in her direction and cocked his thumb back. A beam of ruby light left her stomach looking like a bathtub where someone had pulled out the plug. Both Pacifica and Ray, who had never seen Bill’s cheeky greeting before, gasped in surprise. But Mabel didn’t let it stop her. She rose to her feet and approached the demon. Mind over matter, right?

Bill’s eye crinkled at the corners, as if he was amused by her impertinence.

Even at a distance, Mabel could feel heat radiating off the demon’s brickwork, like a pyramid that had baked all day in the desert sun. Its radiant energy sizzled against her skin.

“Like it?” Bill asked, noticing her hesitation.

“You’re on the physical plane.”

“Yep!”

“How?”

“Pine Tree has become quite the summoning expert over the years. Even I’m impressed.”

“That’s why you needed Dipper. Why he’s ‘paying you back’. He designed some sort of circle for you.” Mabel re-evaluated the detailed arrays on the floor, “He designed something even _you_ couldn’t make.”

“Bingo, Shooting Star!” Bill chittered, “My, you _are_ quite the detective.”

Mabel narrowed her eyes at the demon, “I’m an interrogator too. What does it do, Bill? What is the circle for?”

Bill twirled his cane, debating. Behind him, Dipper had drawn a knife, holding it out above Pacifica as he started to chant. It was low and quiet at first. By some intuition, Mabel knew it would build up to a powerful spell. She was running out of time. Bill knew it too.

“I guess I’ll let you in on the secret.” The demon acquiesced. Like the flick of a switch, he was thunderous, “I’m sick of being at the beck and call of humans. They’re despicable. Weak. But without them, I can’t exist on this plane. Now, _because_ of them, I will.”

Dipper’s incantation swelled in volume. Magic coagulated into silvery streams in the air. Her brother’s eyes were glazed with white power. If Bill had a mouth, he would have been smirking.

Instead, he just sounded smug.

“Pine Tree has been a work in progress for thirteen years. I gave him everything he ever needed to know so that one day, he could repay me. That day has come. I will have a meatsack for myself. My mind. My powers. My will. I will be free to cause chaos as I please.”

“The murderers?” Mabel prompted.

“Ingredients. Simple as that.”

“And Pacifica?”

“Demon’s don’t have souls.” Bill explained helpfully, “And in order to have a fully animated meatsack, there must be a soul. With the final sacrifice, I will capture the Little Warrior’s soul as it leaves her and overwrite it with my own rendition. I hope you don’t mind, Shooting Star.”

In other words, Pacifica would face a fate worse than death.


	41. Doing The Right Thing Is Hard, I Know

Mabel charged forward. She couldn’t let this happen.

Around her, the atmosphere buzzed with magic. Dipper’s words were nearly drowned out by the ringing in her ears.

She tried to dodge around the demon, but Bill moved with impossible speed. He flickered out of existence and appeared in front of her just before her foot crossed the outer circle. Unceremoniously, Bill slammed the base of his cane into her stomach, throwing her clean off her feet.

Gasping and pale-faced, Mabel crashed into Ray. Evidently, he’d tried to rush in, same as Mabel. Bill’s maneuver had dropped two birds – or in this case, detectives – with one stone.

“Dipper!” Mabel’s voice was hoarse, but she didn’t care. Her vision swam as she used what little air she had recovered. “You can’t do this! You must know what you’re doing! You would never do this!”

“I told you, Shooting Star.” Bill said jauntily, “Pine tree is preoccupied at the moment. Do _not_ disturb him!” an ominous echo followed his words.

“What did you do to him!?” Mabel screamed at the demon, Ray holding her upright as she raged. “You monster! This is some kind of trick. You did it when we were kids too!”

The shack was fell silent as a grave after her shout. Dipper’s spell had ended.

“ _Fin_ ” calmed the roiling magic like a whispered prayer.

Pacifica’s form lay still as death on the floor. Her eyes were closed. Her hair was splayed out around her head like a golden halo. A sigh broke through her lips. And like a vapor, a silver stream condensed into a sphere of light and essence of violet.

Pacifica’s soul.

Dipper folded his hands around the hilt of the knife and pointed at the soul. Around it, black salt sprung up from the creases in the floor and clamped down. What could only be described as an iron bird cage built itself into thin air. Upon completion, the lock snicked shut.

Bill clapped, diving over to rest a possessive hand on Dipper’s shoulder and survey his handiwork. Dipper himself waited, almost as still as a statue.

“Nice work, Pine Tree.” Bill gave a whistle and poked at the cage with his cane. The demon turned his attention back to Mabel. “To answer your question, Shooting Star, your brother is very perceptive. But that, in turn, leaves him open to influence. Pine Tree has never done anything he wouldn’t otherwise do. But let’s just say, I can _compel_ him when he needs a push.” Bill ruffled Dipper’s hair, yet Dipper didn’t react, “I have my way with people. So I’ll deal with you when I can do it with my own two hands.”

Mabel saw red.

Her best friend, dying.

Her brother, brainwashed.

Her partner, endangered.

In no particular order was she thinking of those circumstances, only that she needed to _put an end to it_.

With a force of will, Mabel closed the hole in her stomach from Bill’s greeting. If only she could get to the edge of the circle, she could end this once and for all. She sprung forward again, rolling to the side as Bill shot a beam of red light in her direction. There wasn’t a lot of space in the shack to maneuver, making it difficult. But Mabel wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

Dipper started another spell and Bill danced in the air with glee.

“Very good, Pine Tree. When this is done, let’s cause some mayhem!”

Ray charged toward the circle as well. Mabel used her partner’s maneuver to try and sidestep out of Bill’s line of sight when the demon had to shift his focus to the larger man. A flick of Bill’s spindly black wrist send Ray skidding back, though he stayed on his feet.

Mable had gained ground. But Dipper’s glowing eyes had turned on her. And while Dipper couldn’t cast two spells at once, something about his gaze unsettled her. Like Bill was reading the mind of his thrall, he –without even looking her way – disappeared in a flash and reappeared only to slam into her with the full force of his triangular form.

Her resulting tumble came to a stop when she slammed into the wall. Again. And now it felt like chemical burns were tingling across the front of her body. Just another souvenir to add to the bruises and sprains and concussion that she’d already collected on this trip.

Yet one thing in her mind was clear:

If she couldn’t break the circle, then she had to break whatever connection had been forged between the demon and Dipper. Her brother had been with Bill for too long. No more. Even if it took…

She pulled her gun from its holster on her lower back with practiced ease. She flicked off the safety and rested the pommel in her other hand. She braced her elbows on the floor and let out a breath to steady herself.

It didn’t matter that her wrist was sprained, it didn’t matter that her head was spinning from the battle, it didn’t matter that she was aiming at her brother. All that mattered was that she was the sharp-shooting star of the Sacramento Police Department. She wouldn’t miss.

Mabel pulled the trigger.

A single gunshot shattered the cacophony of the skirmish, ending Bill’s assault, halting Ray’s efforts, and silencing Dipper’s incantation. The knife slipped from Dipper’s limp fingers and sliced Pacifica’s arm as it fell. At that moment, the only sounds were soft thumps of the blade as it quivered in the floor and of Dipper’s body as slumped over, face first. He didn’t cry out, didn’t stir.

Mabel was suddenly worried that she had missed. A bullet wound wouldn’t typically knock someone immediately unconscious unless…

Unless the wound was fatal.

Dipper’s prior and in-progress spells broke. Mabel could feel the dissipating magic fluttering over her skin and healing exposed wounds. The black birdcage, too, fluttered away as ash. Pacifica’s soul dropped back into her body, causing the woman to come back to awareness, gasping. With incoordination driven by desperation, she scrambled away from Dipper and the demon, fear and worry plain in her eyes.

But nothing happened.

Seven eyes focused solely on Dipper, waiting with bated breath for him to move. And still nothing happened.

“No, no, no, no, no! Pine Tree!” Bill was the first to act, swooping down to prod the form of his broken puppet with his cane. In a rapid, almost panicked voice, the demon chattered, “Pine Tree, get up. Why did you fall anyway? Geez, you’re such a klutz.”

Abandoning all pretenses, Bill alit on the floor and set his cane aside, “Come on, Pine Tree. You’ve got mysteries to solve. Books to read. Spells to learn. Not necessarily in that order. You can’t sleep all day. Pine Tree!” his spindly, black hands rolled Dipper on his side. Only then did the demon see the hole in Dipper’s shoulder and the blood oozing out onto skin and clothes and floor. Dipper’s eyes remained closed, his face pallid.

The hue of the ambient light from Bill’s triangular form changed from gold to bloody red. The walls of the shack began to tremble. The demon’s tones were no longer playful and lighthearted, “You!” He thundered, echoing ominously as he turned on Mabel, “You, Shooting Star. You damaged my Pine Tree! Unacceptable! He’s mine!!!”

“He’s my brother!” Mabel shouted, “And I’m taking him back!”

An inhuman scream ripped from the demon as he tore at Mabel, hands alight with blue fire, body burning red, eye gleaming black. And Mabel found herself helplessly frozen on the spot as a being of unimaginable power advanced to obliterate her.

Only to stop mere inches from her face.

“What?” Bill whispered in surprise.

On the other side of the room, Pacifica – now free of her bindings and on her feet – had dragged a shoe through the circumference of the summoning circle, marring it with the mud from the soles. Bill’s body began to dissolve as the magic manufacturing his physicality failed.

“Get out of here you dirty demon!” She spat, livid, white as a sheet, and hand clamped over her bloody arm.

“No, no, no, no! I can’t disappear.” The triangle dived down next to Dipper, tugging him toward the door, “Pine Tree, we need to go. Let’s go, Pine Tree.”

Ray had crossed over to Dipper’s prone form, standing in the way, “You’re not taking him anywhere.” He growled at the weakened demon in the most menacing tone Mabel had ever heard him use.

Bill hissed, hovering over Dipper almost protectively with what was left of his body. “Don’t come any closer!” he snarled, “Or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Mabel interrupted with all the smugness she could muster, “Face it Bill, you’ve lost to me again.”

A small border of brickwork around the demon’s eye was all that remained of his physical form. A second later, he blinked and vanished completely while the final echo of his voice reverberated throughout the room.

“I’ll never lose what’s mine, Shooting Star.” Bill Cipher warned.


	42. There Is So Much Attachment Involved, The Strings Have Gotten Tangled Up

Muscles shaking with the effort, Mabel made her way to her brother’s side. He was still unconscious, but now that she could see the wound clearly, she knew it was due to something supernatural rather than physical. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Cradling his head in her lap, she gently touched his face, overwhelmed. She had her brother back!

“Mabel?” he croaked.

Her vision was too cloudy with hot tears, so she couldn’t make out his eyes. But she knew his voice as well as she knew her own. A hand brushed hers and she snatched it, squeezing it close to her chest.

“I love you, bro-bro.” She sobbed.

“I love you too.”

Dipper’s grip slackened as he faded into unconsciousness again. Mabel’s cheeks tickled as the tears that had gathered in her eyes slipped free. Hope fluttered in her chest, flying, fueled by stardust. Hope for a future.

Pacifica shattered the moment with a dose of the present.

“He needs to be taken to the hospital.”

Mabel nodded.

Pacifica hovered over her friend, unsure of what to do. Mabel didn’t make any effort to move. But Dipper’s shoulder was pulsing blood. And while Mabel had her brother back, she wouldn’t have him for long if he didn’t get medical attention.

Then it hit Pacifica.

Mabel meant to turn Dipper in.

She wouldn’t have Dipper for long anyway.

She was dragging out the moment.

Ray knelt in front of Mabel. With a soft “May I?” and answering nod from his partner, he carefully gathered Dipper into his arms.

“I’ll carry him to the car.” He announced, “There is a first aid kit in the glove box with some packing gauze we can use to apply pressure. Ms. Northwest, can you help Mabel?”

“Sure,” Pacifica agreed, “If there are some butterfly bandages in it for me. I think I’m going to need stitches _somewhere_.”

Ray nodded seriously and set out for the car, Dipper cradled against his chest like a child – or a pale, broken puppet. Pacifica tore the rest of her sleeve off her shirt and used it to bind the gash on her arm. The wound on her neck had slowed to an ooze so there was little point in staunching the sluggish flow. Now, with both hands bloody and free, she heaved Mabel to her feet.

The pair wobbled precariously which made Mabel laugh out loud.

“What?” Pacifica snapped, “I’m doing my best here.”

“It’s not that.” Mabel giggled, “This is just so unreal.”

Pacifica patted her back, a soft smile on her face as they staggered out of the shack. With the adrenaline leaving her system, now Mabel could feel the full force of her own injuries. Her vision swam dangerously, a testament to the brutal treatment her concussed head had received. The tendons and ligaments of her wrist felt like they were on fire, jostled too viciously by every collision she’d had with the floor and walls of the shack.

Ray seemed to have fared the best, only sporting a few bruises.

If she squinted through the growing darkness, Mabel could see the broad back of her partner, still straight and tall. Bill had mostly ignored him unless he was actively getting in the way. Not that it was a favor to Ray by any means. It just went to show how _little_ Bill cared about people who served him no purpose.

Which was why he cared so much about Dipper.

Mabel grit her teeth at the thought. Bill’s parting words still echoed in her mind. But she had no intention of letting those words be true.

“What are you going to do?” Pacifica asked, as if reading Mabel’s thoughts.

Mabel turned to her friend, bearing the full brunt of that cool, Northwest gaze. Pacifica had changed so much over the years, she’d grown. She was clever and intuitive. Not to the degree one might call Dipper clever or Mabel intuitive. But Pacifica had her own brand of calculative. With the experience of abuse, neglect, and abandonment, she could spot an inner struggle from a mile away.

“The right thing.” Mabel answered.

Pacifica smirked, “How?”

They’d made it to the car without a problem despite their burdens and injuries. Ray cracked open the first aid kit and started on Dipper’s shoulder with obvious foreknowledge of treating gunshot wounds.

“Just trust me.” Mabel told her friend.

Pacifica nodded, “You know I do.”

“We need to get going.” Ray interrupted. He laid two fingers on Dipper’s wrist. “He’ll get a lot worse if we don’t get him to a hospital and he’s already lost a lot of blood. Ms. Northwest…” Ray hesitated briefly, “Would you mind taking the back seat with him and applying pressure to the wound. I understand if you don’t want to help your abductor, but…”

Pacifica cut him off.

“Of course I will.” She snapped, “Don’t ask stupid questions!”

Mabel sniggered, earning a violet glare from her friend. Ray just shrugged. When everyone was in their seats, Ray hit the gas. The tires spun out as the trio raced for the hospital.

And every mile was a mile closer to losing her brother again.


	43. I Haven’t Told This Story, I’m Living It

It was an exhausting evening.

Despite being checked into the hospital again to be kept overnight for observation, Mabel had been talking to police officers for the past few hours. They needed record of her account while the events were still fresh in her mind. And while Mabel understood this, she was finding it hard to work past the warm fuzzies of the painkillers the nurse had brought about an hour ago.

Were it not for the painkillers, no doubt she’d be sporting a massive sized headache.

The hospital was bustling with activity as medical practitioners and police officers alike dealt with their newest subject. An emergency surgery had been performed to remove the bullet and suture together the damaged tissues in Dipper’s shoulder. Multiple scans had been taken when he didn’t come out from the under anesthesia when expected. Profound trauma – both mental and physical – was cited as the cause of his unconsciousness. All the while, the officers did every background check in existence as they tried to narrow down exactly _who_ Mabel had caught. They weren’t having much luck.

Even Detective Chris Werner was at the hospital, strutting about and ordering a security detail for the “homicidal maniac” in the post-operational wing of the hospital.

“Detective Pines?” Officer Tyrone Golar’s inquiring voice cut through Mabel’s distracted thoughts. Thoughts like how much she’d like to punch Chris in the face for insulting her brother – it was a familiar feeling. One that had returned like it hadn’t been absent for thirteen years.

“Yes?” Mabel tilted her head, trying to encourage her unfocused eyes to return to the officer.

He looked so much like Dipper in some ways. With that slightly impatient and exasperated look on his face. Like he was trying not to get mad or laugh.

Mabel giggled instead.

“What?” Tyrone pouted. “What’s so funny?”

“You remind me of him so much!” Mabel explained, “I almost thought you were him. But that was when I remembered that you weren’t him and I remembered when I had seen him!”

“Right.” Tyrone drew the word out. “This was after you hit your head.”

“Yeah.”

“And you tried to find him.”

“He didn’t want to be found.

“Why?” Tyrone asked, pen poised to add her response to his notebook.

Mabel pursed her lips, thinking. “I’m not sure. He wasn’t… wasn’t right.”

Tyrone shoved his pen between the pages and shut his notebook. Brown eyes shining intensely, he leaned forward in the uncomfortable hospital chair the nurse had given him. Mabel had no retreat.

“So he really is your brother?” Tyrone’s voice was tight, “You’re not kidding.”

Catching the seriousness in his tone and his gesture of keeping her answer off the record, Mabel sighed. “Why would I ‘kid’ about it? You think I _want_ my brother to be a known killer?”

“No.” a new voice announced.

Mabel looked up to see both Chief Rudick and Deputy Chief Frederick standing in the doorway. The woman tossed her head to the side, indicating the doorway and staring at Tyrone meaningfully.

“You have everything you need for your report.” She said, “Please excuse us.”

The young officer gathered his things and left. A knot formed in Mabel’s stomach as she watched him go. Now she was alone with the people who had the final say on the conclusion of her case.

Frederick took Tyrone’s vacated seat, and Mabel noticed that his hand was braced over his torso like someone who was struggling with an upset stomach. Rudick didn’t seem to notice.

The chief of police took up residence at the end of Mabel’s bed. Her arms were folded pristinely behind her, her back stiff and straight.

“There are no records of your brother.” She began without preamble. Everyone was talking about it any way. The homicide case was coming to a close. “He was too young to have a criminal record when he disappeared, putting aside an odd incarceration when he was twelve for forgery.”

Mabel had to force a straight face at Rudick’s obvious confusion. The policewoman continued.

“He was declared dead at eighteen, do I have that right?”

Mabel nodded.

“Additionally, no DNA has been found at any of the crime scenes that matches his. All the samples taken match those of the victims. I have to be honest, he’s the perfect killer: off the record and untraceable. It’s only based on his possession of the victim’s cells, which we recovered from the circle in the shack, that we can link him to the homicides.”

Mabel canted her head, questioning, “What else?”

Rudick sighed, seeming to assess Mabel before she continued, “You told us that he has been using an alias: Forrest Altair. We are going to prosecute him under that name.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Frederick explained for Rudick, “While there is evidence to connect ‘Forrest Altair’ to the homicides, there is nothing to connect ‘Forrest Altair’ to ‘Dipper Pines’. You did the right thing when you brought your brother in for his crimes. We don’t want to reward that by implicating you in the prosecution process. Only those that need to know will know.”

“It will be on the official report, of course.” Rudick tagged on, “But only your personal statement. Like Frederick said, unless we delve into it deeper, we’d have no way of knowing that your word was true. As far as we know, Forrest Altair is the killer not your brother.” The woman Mabel had first labeled as businesslike and detached, softened. “We don’t think it’s necessary to exhume the memory of your brother just to desecrate it.”

For what seemed like the millionth time since the homicide investigations began, Mabel felt her eyes water.

“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Don’t mention it.” Frederick said with a warm smile.

“No, seriously,” Rudick added, “don’t.”


	44. Secrets Shared Make A Burden Lighter

Mabel checked herself out the next morning.

She stretched, warm beams of sunlight spilling though the windows of the hospital as she waited at the front desk for the nurse to return with a copy of her discharge orders.

It was amazing to think that this ordeal was over. The homicide case had reached its conclusion. Now all Mabel had to do was file the paperwork. Lots of _boring_ paperwork. She cringed at the thought.

And now that things were wrapping up, she realized just how big of a weight it had been. Her next challenge was the future. What would it hold?

The prosecution, no doubt.

The sentence.

Bill?

No, definitely not. She would make sure of that.

Mabel accepted the sheaf of papers from the nurse, signing one last form before leaving the wing of the hospital where she had enjoyed her second overnight stay. She checked her phone to see a text from Ray saying that he would be there shortly to pick her up. He’d been busy at the station all morning.

It was just enough time for what she had planned.

Mabel didn’t need to stop and ask for directions. She already knew what room he was in; she’d repeated it over and over in her head like a mantra all night. Though unfamiliar with the corridors, some intuition – twin probably – led her to the right room.

The officers posted at either side of the door was a helpful indicator as well.

Mabel flashed her badge, but it wasn’t entirely necessary. By this time, every officer in the Salem Police Department knew that she was the one that had brought in the infamous killer. Fortunately, not every officer knew that that same killer was her twin brother. Had they known, they probably wouldn’t have let her by so easily. What she was about to do wasn’t entirely legal. But like Grunkle Stan always used to say: “When there’s no cops around, anything’s legal!”

Well, this time, there _were_ cops around.

She was one.

She still remembered Grunkle Stan’s feigned disappointment when she’d told him of her career choice. But underneath the gruff exterior, Mabel had seen the truth in his eyes. They had shone with unshed tears behind his old glasses.

An unspoken message: Go _get your brother, Sweetheart, he’s too stupid to find his own way home_.

With her hand on the door knob to Dipper’s hospital room, she realized, she’d done just that.

She’d succeeded where Grunkle Stan had failed.

A broken portal had separated her Grunkle from his twin brother. For Mabel, it was simply the length of a hospital room.

Dipper was watching the door when she opened it, like he knew she was there. Just like she had known where to find him, first in the pine forest and then in the hospital. His skin was drawn over his muscles and bones, making him look gaunt. His eyes stared out from sunken sockets. His lips were dry and flaking.

He looked terrible.

And Mabel couldn’t stop the guilty feeling that settled in her stomach.

She shook her head. Replacing guilt with determination, she strode over to his bedside.

There was no recorder in the hospital room and she doubted the police could hear from their post outside the door, but all the same, she leaned forward and whispered, “Dipper, where is the journal?”

Accentuated by heavy shadows, Dipper’s deep, dark, brown eyes – his, not Bill’s – met hers. He didn’t say anything.

After a moment, a soft jingle of handcuffs preceded the sensation of his warm hand softly sliding into hers. Gently, she squeezed his thin fingers. A faint tug at the corner of his mouth she interpreted as a smile. Slowly, shakily, he brought his other hand over, IV shivering in a display of the effort it cost him. She brought her hands together and clasped his in hers, a smile on her own face.

Mabel jumped as she heard the door swing open. Hastily, she dropped his hands.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse stated brusquely, “but it’s time for my rounds.”

“Oh.” Mabel retreated a step, tucking her hands behind her back, “My bad.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” The nurse assured her before looking at Dipper’s charts. To him, she continued, “Your heart rate has been elevated for a while. Is your shoulder hurting?”

Dipper nodded once, slow and shallow, and snuck a glance at Mabel. She looked at the floor.

“Alright,” the nurse was saying, “I’m going to add some pain medicine to your IV drip. You should be feeling better momentarily. Remember, you can press the call light if you need anything else.”

Task done, the nurse whisked her way through the door and the pair of guards. Mabel returned to her brother’s bedside. She noticed his eyelids were already drooping as he fought the battle to stay awake in vain. A soft smile found its way onto her face.

“Don’t worry, bro-bro.” she murmured, pushing back his hair and kissing him on his forehead – right on the constellation birthmark. “Your big sis is here. I’m going to find a way to make you better. And I’m going to protect you.”

His head fell as sleep overtook him.

“Mystery Twins, okay?”

She palmed the piece of paper in her hand as she walked past the two officers and out of the hospital.


	45. Who Are You, Because You Are Different From How I Remember You

“Drinks on me.” Pacifica teased, her violet eyes glinting.

“Haha.” Mabel muttered, scanning the menu, “Very funny.”

“I thought it was.”

Mabel rolled her eyes, debating drink options available at Pacifica’s favorite café, City Lights.

Pacifica stepped forward to order an iced plum tea. “To calm my burning throat.” She arched an eyebrow at Mabel.

Mabel snorted, eyes flickering to the bandages on her friend’s neck, before she met Pacifica’s gaze. “I don’t remember you always being such a comedian, Pacifica.” To the barista she added, “Strawberry-banana smoothie, please.”

Pacifica’s hand snuck up to her neck after she paid. “I’m trying to make light of it. But it really does burn and itch. The stitches are especially aggravating.”

Even a few days after their ordeal in the shack, the two women hadn’t had much of a chance to recover. Mabel had spent full days at the precinct, tying up loose ends. Pacifica had jumped back into her work with some kind of mysterious fervor, it had even Mabel concerned.

But it was nice to see her friend, despite the shadows under her eyes and the gauze patches on her neck and arm.

“So.” Pacifica began when they had found a table, “You work in Salem is done. When will you be headed back to California?”

Mabel swirled her straw through the thick slush of her drink, thinking. She didn’t want to leave her brother’s side. Even less after what the doctors had reported in their examination.

“I’m not sure.” Was what she said instead, “It sounds like the prosecution is still a few weeks away. But I have no doubt that the trial will be quick.”

Something Mabel couldn’t quite place flitted across Pacifica’s features.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I know.” Mabel sighed.

“Mabel,” Suddenly, Pacifica gaze was intense, eyes boring into Mabel’s so that she couldn’t look away, “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

Mabel didn’t respond, pressing her lips together.

“Please.” Pacifica begged, “I _need_ to know.”

Mabel looked down at her hands. Clutched around the plastic of the smoothie cup, they slipped on the condensation when her grip tightened.

Memories she’d been mulling over all day bubbled to the surface. She’d been thinking about this. Where it all began. She’d always been so unsure about it, because she had never known where Dipper had disappeared to. Now the answer was startlingly clear.

“ _When earth becomes sky; fear the beast with just one eye._ ” She recited under her breath.

Pacifica leaned in, listening intently.

“Remember that day during our first summer in Gravity Falls, when gravity quit working?”

“Yes. How could I forget something like that?”

“Grunkle Stan caused it.”

Pacifica tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist, taking care not to jostle her throat.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised that your family was behind it.”

Mabel chuckled, but continued, “Grunkle Stan rebuilt an old portal in the basement of the Mystery Shack. After thirty years of trial-and-error, he finally found the instructions to calibrate the machine just right. He started it back up.”

“An ‘old’ portal, Mabel?” Pacifica queried, “And why would he want to do that.”

“The portal was an invention of our _other_ great uncle.” Mabel explained, watching Pacifica’s eyes widen in comprehension as she continued, “Grunkle Stan’s twin brother, the author of the journals that Dipper was obsessed with. He was trapped on the other side of the portal.”

Pacifica said nothing. Waiting.

“Problem was, the portal was extremely dangerous. All the journals warned against using it. And we didn’t know about Stan’s brother at the time. When a gravity anomaly occurred, I was the only person within reach of the deactivation switch.”

Mabel swallowed and continued.

“Dipper and Stan were both shouting at me as the countdown creeped closer to zero. Dipper wanted to listen to the journals, shut the portal down, and prevent the end of the world. Grunkle Stan, he… he told me that everything he did was for our family. He asked me if I thought he was a bad guy. He asked me to trust him.”

Pacifica’s eyes softened. “And you did.”

“I still don’t know if I made the right decision, then.” Mabel stared into her smoothie. It swirled like the galaxies on the other side of the portal. A bitter reminder. “I let time run out. There was a bright, white light. But then it was sucked back into the portal. I couldn’t breathe. It was like all the air in the basement had been swallowed when the portal collapsed in on itself. I think there was some kind of fail-safe on the portal so only the author could really activate it. Turns out, our great uncle Ford was more paranoid that Stan had expected.”

“We woke up to the basement destroyed. Everything was wrecked. And Dipper… well, he stuck around long enough to hear Stan’s explanation before he stormed off. They didn’t speak for a week, Dipper and Stan. Dipper talked to me, but I think that was more because he had no one else.”

“But that was a whole year before he disappeared.” Pacifica pointed out.

“That was just the beginning.” Mabel placed her hands on the table, distracting herself as her thoughts continued to spill into words, “At first, Dipper was just mad. Mad at Stan for lying. Mad at me for not trusting him. And mad about going back to Piedmont. But when we got home, I think all those emotions changed into something else. He grew paranoid. Worse than normal. Mom and dad didn’t really notice because he was subtle about it. But it was definitely there. I tried to make sure everything was just… normal.

“We returned to Gravity Falls the following summer. And for a few weeks, I thought everything was better. Dipper was excited to go mystery hunting again. But he also got more fidgety. He stopped sleeping at night. And that’s when I knew he’d been having nightmares.

“Then he started having spells where he wasn’t quite _there_ , you know… He’d just, space out, and you’d have to snap him out of it. He started avoiding us when we pestered him about it. We’d find him in the woods, just… standing there.

_“Dipper. Dipper? Dip… Dipper!”_

_He started, brown eyes snapping back into focus, “What?”_

_“You were zoned-out, bro-bro. What’s wrong?”_

_His brows furrow together and a look of intense concentration crosses his face, “Does it ever bother you?”_

_“What would ‘bother me’?”_

_“How little we know.”_

_She shivered at the empty quality of his voice and the terror in his eyes and the triangular shape of his shadow. Something was wrong. And she didn’t know what to do._

“Why?” Pacifica prompted when Mabel had trailed off.

“I assume Bill Cipher had already started playing his games,” Mabel deduced, “long before the summer Dipper disappeared. That demon orchestrated the whole thing, starting with Great Uncle Ford’s paranoia in Journal 3. It was the fuel on the fire of Dipper’s mistrust. And when Dipper hit his lowest point and went looking for answers _anywhere_ , Bill was already waiting for him with open arms.”

“So Bill knew Dipper was the key to getting a body?”

“Maybe.” Mabel said simply.

Pacifica toyed with her glass, twirling the straw absently. She was silent for a minute.

“I need to know.” She finally said, “How much sway did Bill Cipher have over your brother?”

“How do you expect me to know that?” Mabel asked.

“You’re his sister. You know him better than anyone.”

Mabel frowned.

“Dipper was,” she began, “Well, you know he was terrified of a lot of things. Even the mysteries he loved scared him to death sometimes. But,” She reached over and squeezed Pacifica’s hand, “Dipper would always set aside his fears for the people he cared about. He was bravest when he protected us.”

Pacifica looked up. There was a sheen of tears in her eyes. But she looked… hopeful.

“The reason Bipper – or Forest Altair – exists is because Bill had to act out his plans through Dipper. And when it wasn’t Bipper, it was his shadow – his influence. I think, after all that time with a demon, Dipper lost some of himself.”

Pacifica squeezed Mabel’s hand back, “Let’s help him find himself.”


	46. The Things Unsaid Between Us

“That might be difficult.” Mabel said, though not in a way that suggested defeat.

Pacifica cocked her head to the side, “How so?”

“The doctors…” Mabel remembered how she’d had to read the hospital notes over and over and over again, waiting for them to sink in, “They think that he has some pretty serious psychosomatic impairments from psychological trauma.”

“Like living with a demon for thirteen years.” Pacifica’s eyes blazed, furious.

“Yeah. Have you ever heard of ‘Conversion Disorder’?”

“It’s when someone experiences neurological symptoms without a definable organic cause.” She sounded like a Wikipedia article, “I wouldn’t be a Professor of Sociology if I didn’t know that. I dabble in psychology research sometimes too.”

“Dipper’s got it.”

Pacifica froze.

“How so?” she asked slowly.

“He doesn’t talk. He’s mute.”

“What?”

“He just writes. Everything’s encrypted, obviously. He just writes in ciphers.” Mabel sighed, having had some time to come to terms with the diagnosis. While across from her, Pacifica was similar to stone.

“Why?”

Mabel changed tactics.

“You know that book Dipper and I coauthored the summer before he disappeared?”

“Yeah,” Pacifica screwed up her face, thinking, “You called it _Dipper and Mabel’s Guide to Mysteries and Non-stop Fun_. Wow. I’m surprised I remember that.”

Mabel laughed, “The title was kind of a mouthful, but we were twelve and we thought it was clever.”

“What does that have to do with Dipper not speaking?”

Her heart clenched a little when Pacifica said it aloud. What had Bill Cipher really done to Dipper? She didn’t know. But she _did_ know that it would be a long recovery, both for Dipper and herself.

“In the book, he wrote a section about Bill Cipher. He said something like, ‘ _Believe me, you don’t want him in your mind. He will wreck the place_.’”

Pacifica drew in a sharp breath.

“You were right when you told me he had changed. He’s never going to be the same again after what Bill did to him.” Mabel didn’t want to shed any more tears. There’d been too many in the past few days. And yet, more threatened to come. She steeled herself.

“Do you know the extent of what happened?”

Mabel shook her head, furiously wiping her eyes, “How can I. He hasn’t said anything since that night.”

“What about the things he writes? Do you have the key to his code somewhere?”

“Pacifica, after he disappeared, I looked through everything he owned. I read his notes and his books. I’ve never seen anything like this one before.”

Her friend pursed her lips.

“Maybe I could help?”

“How?” Mabel pressed.

“I could call in a few favors. If you don’t mind having a third party look at them, I could get someone from the linguistics department at the university to decode them. We could just tell them that it’s a game we play. A really elaborate, fantasy novel game…” She trailed off, unsure of what the look in Mabel’s eyes meant. It was stuck somewhere on desperation and excitement. But there was a hint of uncertainty as well.

“Do you think Dipper would mind?”

“Why would you ask me that?” Pacifica wanted to scoff, but resisted the urge, “He’s your brother.”

Mabel’s smile was far too knowing for her liking, “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Hmph.” Pacifica crossed her arms, “Well if you’re asking _me_ , I’d say, do it. If it were my… brother, and there was no other route for communicating with him, then I’d do whatever it took. You already saved him from a demon. Why be so worried over a couple of notes?”

“It feels like I’m violating his trust again.” She shifted uncomfortably, “it should be fine, though. Right?” she looked up hopefully at her friend.

“I think so.”

Mabel dug a folder out of her bag and handed it to Pacifica.

“I’ll do what I can.” She said, straightening out the contents like they were precious texts worth more than her family’s fortune.


	47. Dipper and Mabel Vs The Future

“Enter.”

The flat command came clearly from the other side of the door even though Mabel had yet to knock. Her brows squeezed together in confusion at the coincidence. It was helping to make her fell any less nervous.

The door squeaked when she opened it. Police chief, Anne Rudick, sitting behind her desk, looked up from her mountain of paper work.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Detective Pines.”

“Well that certainly wasn’t obvious.” Mabel mumbled sarcastically under her breath.

Rudick’s grey eyes gleamed, like she knew what had been said regardless.

“Please,” the woman gestured to the chair across the desk, “Sit.”

Mabel felt like she was an elementary student, in a meeting with the school principal. Like she was in trouble and every protest made was as translucent as saran wrap.

“I’m about to send the evidence from the homicide case off to the District Attorney Representative that will be handling Altair’s defense.”

“Is that why you were expecting me?” Mabel asked.

“No.” Rudick folded her hands in front of her. Every move she made was crisp and decisive. Mabel remembered not knowing how she felt about this woman, and even now, she couldn’t put her finger on what made the chief so different. There was something there. Something that forced Mabel to be on the edge of her seat. Like a mystery hunt was about to begin.

Rudick watched Mabel silently for another minute. Sensing a test, Mabel bore her scrutiny.

Finally, Rudick relented. She pulled a drawer open on her desk and nabbed a file from the myriad of folders in the stacks. Mabel started in surprise when Rudick handed the file to her.

“What’s this?” Mabel asked as she opened it.

“An application.” The chief said, “There are some forms to fill out and some papers to sign, but it shouldn’t be too time consuming. We can transfer most of your career reports directly from the Sacramento Police Department. Have that back to me before you leave for California tomorrow. We should have it processed in roughly two weeks. You will have little difficulty getting hired as a full-time detective with the Salem Police Department, I promise.”

Mabel stared at the woman, completely dumbfounded. “How did you know?”

“How did I know that you wanted to move to Salem to be closer to your brother? That is a rather simple deduction, Detective Pines. However, I think you are searching for something deeper.”

“You could say that.”

“I’m clairvoyant, Mabel.”

It must have been shock, because it took Mabel a few seconds to remember what ‘clairvoyant’ meant. Diviner. Prophetess. Seer of the future.

“I know things.” Rudick went on, “But when the homicide case began over a year ago, I suddenly couldn’t see the outcome. I’ve know that Frederick has the ability to sense magic, even though he’s never told me. I trust his judgement. When you arrived, I couldn’t rely on my abilities to be certain that you were the right woman for the job. Somehow, I knew you were connected to it all; whether that was good or bad, I couldn’t tell.

“Halfway through your investigation, I started to have these dreams: young siblings, twins, in matching black suits, holding hands in a red room. You, I recognized immediately. But the other was obscured from my sight.”

“Dipper.” Mabel whispered.

Rudick nodded.

“When you brought him in, I knew without being told that he was your twin brother. That you were reunited at last.”

“Why tell me this?” Mabel interrupted, “I don’t take it that anyone else in the precinct knows about your ability.”

“No.” Rudick said with a sly smile. “They certainly don’t.”

“Then why?”

“Because I have something I think you should hear.” The police chief gestured to the pile of reports on her desk, “The outcome of your brother’s trial.”

Mabel’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

“You…”

“Know? Yes, I do.”

Mabel shot to her feet and braced her hands on Rudick’s desk, “Tell me.”

Rudick simply smiled at her energy, not taking offence at her demands, “The DA will take the case with an insanity plea. Your brother will be institutionalized in a facility outside of Salem. While he might still be incarcerated, it will be in a place where he can get the help he needs. Psychiatric care is the primary concern of the institution. He will be treated well. And you will be with him every step of the way.”

Knees weak, Mabel collapsed back into the chair. She cradled her face in her hands as she took deep breaths. This was more than she could have hoped for.

She mustered her courage to aske just one question.

“Will he get better?”

Rudick made a humming noise, obviously thinking. Mabel looked up to meet the police chief’s slate-grey eyes.

“That is far in the future, Mabel. It will be a long road to recovery, as I am sure you already know. In that sense, it’s up to you. Not all of your future is decided. You need to _make_ it.”

“Thank you.” Mabel smiled, “Thank you for telling me this.”

Businesslike, Rudick straightened the reports on her desk, “In return, I expect not one word of this conversation to be repeated. Am I clear?”

“As crystal.”

Mabel stood to leave, taking that as her dismissal. She was at the door when Rudick called out.

“I will be pleased to have you on the force, Detective Pines. You have a fine, resilient spirit and a soul of sound morals. You’re a good person.”

With a parting grin, Mabel laughed, “If only the unicorns agreed with you. I’d be unstoppable.”

Anne Rudick’s chuckles could be heard from the other side of the closed door.


	48. I Found A Frayed End, So I Cut It Off

“My colleague was very entertained by my little favor.”

Pacifica spread sheets of chicken scratch out across the coffee table. They had met a City Lights Café once again. Tomorrow, Mabel would be leaving with Ray for Sacramento. Only to pack her things into a moving truck and turn back around a few days later. Her friend continued her explanation, interrupting Mabel’s mental planning. “He said that whoever wrote these used an interesting combination of traditional codes and self-invented ciphers.”

Mabel scanned the documents, sipping her soda thoughtfully. “Was he able to completely solve it?” she queried.

Pacifica laid out an alphabetical translation, “It took him a while, but he did.”

“Good.”

Pulling a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, Mabel smoothed it out next to the code and set about writing the message under the mess of symbols. She’d kept this one separate from the others when she’d initially given her friend the file. This was the one Dipper had given her when she asked about Journal 3. Pacifica watched her with mild interest as she sipped her latte, “What’s that?” she asked when Mabel was done.

“A note from Dipper.”

“About?” Pacifica prompted.

Mabel spun the paper upside down so Pacifica could read it, a smile blooming on her face, “You got a few hours for a little road trip?”

Pacifica took a pensive drink of her coffee before answering with a smirk of her own, “I don’t think my students would be devastated if their three-thirty lecture got cancelled.”                  

Mabel couldn’t stop herself from hugging her friend.

The air of Gravity Falls was heavy with the scent of pine trees. The thick, rugged cover of Journal 3 was sturdy and dependable in her hands. ‘ _Trust no one_ ’ it said. But it was her trust in people that had gotten her so far, while Dipper…

No.

He trusted her. And she had redeemed him. Like she said she would. And she would continue to save him. From Bill. From himself. From whatever came their way. Mystery Twins. That was how it worked. He’d find the trouble and she’d play the hero.

“You’re transferring, aren’t you?” Ray said without inflection. His hands on the steering wheel turned white with force of his grip. They were only an hour into the drive back to Sacramento, the day after finding Journal 3 in the forests of Gravity Falls for the second time. Mabel had nowhere to go to escape his question. But who was running?

“Yeah.”

Before they had left Salem, Robbie had been released for his assistance in crippling the drug operations of Salem, Gideon had been returned to his dilapidated RV to continue his summer tour, and Dipper had been discharged from the hospital and transferred to a cell in the SPD precinct to await his trial.

Mabel hadn’t said ‘good bye,’ but ‘see you soon.’

“Are you upset?” Mabel asked with her typical, Mabel directness.

“I don’t know.” Ray admitted, “We’ve been through so much as partners. It’s hard to believe that it ends here. Only a month and a half before I get my detective’s badge.”

“I know you will do fine.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Mabel pressed.

Ray eyes remained fixed on the road, “You’ve turned everything on its head, Mabel.” He said with a humorless chuckle, “First it was the oddities that came with being your partner. Then it was how you reminded me about how much family means; how much my daughter means to me. Finally you drop the ultimate revelation, saying that magic and demons are perfectly real.”

“And?”

“And now you’re just going to leave.”

“Ray.”

“I know. It’s unfair of me.” Ray sounded frustrated, “It’s just… You inspire me, Mabel. And I’m afraid I’ll return to being a coward without you around.”

“You’ve not a coward, Ray.” Mabel insisted, “You challenged a demon.”

Ray laughed.

“I want to hear all about your daughter.” Mabel took on a commanding tone, “Every time you see her, you will have to give me an update.”

“I already called a lawyer.” Ray mumbled.

Mabel clapped her hands together, “Great! All the better. And Pictures! You must take pictures! Tons of pictures!”

“Thanks, Mabel.” Ray recognized her efforts to cheer him up.

“No problem.”

“But will _you_ be okay?” Ray asked.

Mabel smiled softly at her partner.

“I will be.”


	49. Who Is Dipper Pines To You, My Brother

Mabel stood in the corridor as she watched the psychiatrist, Dr. Hoppus, make her way through her rounds. The middle aged woman was short and stout with round cheeks and almond-shaped eyes. Mabel thought she was beautiful, both inside and out.

She was Dipper’s doctor.

This was Dipper’s room.

As Dr. Hoppus disappeared around the corner, Mabel turned to look at the expressionless door with its lack of a handle and muted colors. The only thing special about it was that, hidden within the frame of the door, she had etched arcane symbols according to the instructions in Journal 3. At the very least, the boring door would ward off demons.

She was adjusting, that was for certain.

Her new apartment in Salem was filled with unpacked cardboard boxes. Between the Salem Police Department, the courthouse, and the institution, she hadn’t spent much of the past two weeks doing interior decorating. She had spent as much time as she could with Dipper.

He was adjusting too. The wound on his shoulder was healing nicely, but that said nothing of the trauma he was dealing with inside. Even without Bill around, Dipper was often confused or unfocused. He was lethargic, spending any time that he wasn’t in trial sleeping.

Dipper had not spoken since the night they’d rescued him. He seemed content to communicate through his convoluted cipher, which Mabel was learning to read by sight, without the key.

It had been busy. But now things were settling down. Dipper was completely moved into his room and his plan of care was carefully mapped out. Medications for anxiety and paranoia. Regular meetings with Dr. Hoppus for therapy. All the excellent care her brother _wouldn’t_ have gotten in a state penitentiary.

Did he deserve it?

“Yes.” Pacifica would say without hesitation. She’d been supporting Mabel through the entire process, taking liberal amounts of time off teaching and research to do so. “He’s human. Just like anyone else. And despite the mistakes he has made, no one deserves to be treated as less than human.”

In some ways, she amazed Mabel. Pacifica might just be one of the people Dipper had hurt the most throughout the entire ordeal. Yet, she had been an invaluable shoulder to lean on.

Not that Pacifica had been completely patient with him. One day, after eight hours of court proceedings, Dipper had been less that willing to return to the courtroom. His defiance had been met by a sharp gesture of frustration from Pacifica. A gesture that Mabel would later find out had been sign language.

Which was how a silent argument – that Pacifica had ultimately won – between Pacifica and Dipper had precipitated into a full blown, sign language debate. The two of them had gestured animatedly for nearly ten minutes before Mabel received any explication, which Mabel feared would soon become a common occurrence.

“He knows sign language, Mabel.” Pacifica huffed, shooting Dipper and mild glare. “Which he didn’t bother to mention before. He says that Bill taught him.”

“I guessed as much.” Mabel said mildly. “But how do _you_ know sign language.”

“Liberal Arts degree. We had to take a certain number of semester hours of a foreign language. So I took ASL. I enjoyed it so much I kept up with it.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’?” Pacifica sniffed, “That’s all you have to say? Do you not understand just how stubborn your brother is being?”

“No. I got about zero info out of your conversation.”

Pacifica threw her hands up in the air, “You two are frustrating.” She stomped off to see to convincing the jury to quit their deliberations for the day. Mabel and Dipper grinned at each other, enjoying their favorite pastime: watching their bratty friend fume.

But those moments of normalcy were few and far between still. Dipper had a long way to go.

Mable was startled out of her past and into the present when someone elbowed her in the ribs. It was Pacifica, holding a flat piece of metal in her hands.

She eyed Mabel, a small smile on her face. Despite her perfectly done hair and makeup, Mabel could spot the bags on her face and the shadows in her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping well. She had been working tirelessly. _Why_? Mabel had wanted to ask. But she already knew the answer.

It was the same reason Mabel was here. In Salem. In the institution. Outside his door. They loved him.

Mabel returned Pacifica’s smile, albeit, with a larger one. She was so happy to have her brother and her best friend back.

“What have you got there, Pacifica?”

Pacifica looked a tiny bit nervous. Mabel saw the moment she abandoned decorum and dived into her explanation. It spilled out at a pace that was just barely understandable.

“I did research with Dr. Hoppus when I was working on my masters. So I might have pulled some stings to get some special favors for Dipper. I thought that, since he’s having so much trouble keeping things together, he should have one less thing to worry about.”

Pacifica fitted the plaque into slots beside the door. The nameplate read “Dipper Pines.”

Mabel was speechless for a moment. It meant so much to her and to her brother. No longer was he “Pine Tree” or “Forest Altair.” He could be himself, and only that, for the first time in thirteen years. And maybe, just maybe, the future for Dipper Pines was filled with hope.

“Thank you.” Mabel’s voice was shaky and her eyes were watery.

“Don’t thank me.”

“Fine then.” Mabel wrapped her arm around Pacifica, squeezing her in a hug from the side. “I won’t thank you.”

To Mabel’s surprise, Pacifica’s shoulders began to shake.

“Don’t thank me.” She sobbed. She had finally broken down. Tears streamed down her face, which she buried in Mabel’s shoulder, “Just help him get better.”

Mabel hugged her friend in earnest this time.

“I will.” She whispered as Pacifica cried, “I promise. But you’re going to do it with me.”


	50. Nearly Almost The End, But Not Quite

_Journal 3 Entry: October 22, 2024_

_Based on the information Bill has given me, I think I finally have the solution for giving him what he wants: his own ‘meat bag’. That’s what he calls physical bodies. When he agreed to divulge the secrets of Gravity Falls and the universe to me all those years ago, in return he wanted someone who could help him make his own vessel._

_But I don’t like it. I’ve run the calculations hundreds of times, and well… it requires a lot of sacrifices. Bill said he would do his fair share; that I didn’t have to worry about it. And as much as I believe him, I don’t trust him. Not fully. Not ever._

_It’s been a really long time since I felt like I could trust someone._

_Speaking of which, after this is all over, I’m going back to Mabel. I’m finished with Bill. I don’t even know how long it’s been. Sometimes there’s a blur and suddenly a year has passed. I can’t even remember when I left. How old am I now?  I’m a mess… messed up._

_I hope that she’ll… I don’t know. I forgot. What were things like between us?_

_It’s foolish to believe that things will be the same anyway. I know so much now. Things humans shouldn’t know. It’s too much. I think I betrayed her somehow, but I’m not sure how. How is it possible that I possess all this knowledge, yet I can’t even answer that?_

_Bill says not to worry about that either._

_As much as I’ve changed, so has he. At the start, he didn’t seem to have any grasp of human limitations. He’d launch into an explanation on metaphysics that would take days without breaks for food or sleep. He’d drag me into the mindscape to show me something and leave my body vulnerable to the elements. He’s come close to accidentally killing me more times than I can count._

_Then there was this one time it was really serious. I think I had a fever and I was hallucinating. But I don’t recall much of it. And what I do recall is nightmarish. Was that Bill though? I get confused sometimes. Consciousness and unconsciousness are equally meaningful when there’s a dream demon around. Anyway, I was sick. Probably about to die._

_When I pulled through, Bill was different. He’d stop his lecturing as if he wanted to keep me in suspense. He’d knock me out if I didn’t stop pestering him. He even possessed someone just so they would bring me something to eat once a day. It was weird, almost like he was acting like one of those people that care for you as a kid… what’s the term for it? Mother._

_HA! ‘Mommy Bill’! That’d annoy him for sure. I gotta remember to bring that up later._

_I teased him the other day, saying that now he’s had practice he’ll actually be able to take care of a body. He was kinda pissed, but he got over it. After all, it’s the truth. I’d hate to think of the masochistic mess he no doubt would have made. Like he made with Bipper._

_Is it a good idea to give a demon a body? No. Absolutely not. Remember, I don’t trust Bill. He doesn’t know that the circle I designed for him transfers only his ‘soul’ and not his powers. When all is said and done, he will simply be a regular human. Albeit, a conniving asshole of a human._

_I’m hiding this note. It’s enchanted so Bill won’t find out my plan. Along with it, I’m leaving Journal 3 in Gravity Falls. For now. I don’t want to jeopardize it by bringing it with me. This mission will be the most risky and dangerous yet. In a few months, when Bill has his wish, I will come back for it. And then. I’m finding Mabel. End of story._

_Mystery Twins together again._

The End


	51. Epilogue

Mabel was in the middle of an interview with a witness when she got the call. She’d set the ring-tone for Dipper’s psychiatrist to _Recover_ by CHVRCHES because she loved the irony.

Dr. Hoppus never called without a good reason, so Mabel silenced her cell and finished questioning her witness with all possible speed. It was times like these where she missed having Ray there to swoop in and take over when she needed it.

Racing down the sidewalk to her car, Mabel dialed the institution. She took a deep breath to calm herself and patiently waited for the doctor to answer. After a few rings a click sounded as someone picked up the receiver.

“Didsomethinghappen?”

So much for calm.

Dr. Hoppus hummed, sounding as if she was thinking carefully over what she was about to say. “Yes. But it’s nothing extremely serious, Mabel.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dipper didn’t wake up this morning. Which isn’t an issue. On days he sleeps in, we like to let him. Lord knows he doesn’t get enough. But it’s been over fifteen hours now. He hasn’t stirred and no one has been able to rouse him. We took his vitals and did an EEG, just to double check.”

“And?” Mabel prompted.

“And everything’s normal.” Dr. Hoppus assured her, “He’s just asleep. Dreaming. The only thing I can’t figure out is why it’s been so long. I thought maybe you’d like to come in and take a stab at waking him up.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

“It won’t interfere with your work, will it?”

Mabel looked over the list of questions she had yet to ask the other witnesses, “Um… no?”

She could easily detect the woman on the other end of the line roll her eyes, “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again. Dipper is doing well. We take good care of him. Please don’t needlessly risk your employment.”

“I won’t, doctor.” Mabel promised, “But I’d like to come see him.”

“Okay.”

“See you shortly, doctor.”

“Are there any advance preparations you need?” Dr. Hoppus asked.

“Yeah. Can someone set out the candles from Dipper’s locker?”

“Sure thing.”

Mabel ended the call and immediately dialed the Salem Police Department. She was relieved to hear a very familiar voice answer the phone.

“SPD, this is Officer Archer speaking.”

“Madison,” Mabel spoke quickly, “Something came up at the institution. I’m going over. Can you punch me out at,” she checked her watch, “two thirty-eight. If anyone asks about the interviews, tell them I’ll have them finished by tomorrow. Promise.”

“Sure thing, detective.”

“Thanks, Madison. I owe you one.”

“I’ll cash that ‘one’ next time you make some of your homemade cookies. Good luck. I hope everything’s okay with your brother.” The young officer hung up without further ado. Mabel could never be thankful enough for her respectful lack of prying.

Mabel had been that kid in elementary school who’d had a hard time sitting still. She found that, at times like these, that fidgety tendency was still present. The thirty minute drive to the institution was painful. She tried tuning in to all her favorite radio stations, but in the middle of the day, there were too many adds to keep her brain preoccupied.

“Sweet Moses.” She muttered to herself, settling with a shoddy parking job in her haste.

She tapped the counter impatiently as the receptionist checked her in. “Sign here.” Her handwriting wasn’t legible. “Here’s your pass.” She snatched the proffered plastic card from the woman and flashed an apologetic smile.

Easily navigating the halls of the institution, Mabel found the familiar room with the plain nametag – ‘Dipper Pines’. The only reason Dipper’s real name was there was because of Pacifica’s connections. She’d done graduate level research with Dr. Hoppus, and had a heavy hand in getting Dipper the help that would match his needs. Officially, Dipper had been prosecuted under the name Forrest Altair and ‘Dipper Pines’ was simply a sobriquet.

Speaking of the doctor, the woman nearly bumped into Mabel when she arrived. Dr. Hoppus’ head was down as she added notes to an exhaustive stack of reports. Mabel could certainly empathize. While detective work could have its exciting moments, she still had loads of paperwork. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how much was required of a medical professional.

“Oh, Mabel!” the woman pushed up her glasses, “You’re here. That was quick.”

Mabel glanced at her watch, “It’s been almost an hour, doctor.”

“Yes, yes.” Dr. Hoppus waved the comment away, “I’m sorry. It’s easy to get wrapped up in my work. I was just about to check on Dipper, but it seems I won’t need to. Unless there’s something else you need.”

Dr. Hoppus always amazed Mabel with the lengths she went to in order to care for her patients. Her job must be incredibly demanding, and yet, here she was, willing to help in any way. It made her wonder just what kind of life the doctor was able to maintain outside of work. Mabel would never be one to critique. After she’d spent a few years of her life in an unhealthy relationship with her job, she appreciated the balance she’d attained since her transfer to Salem.

“No. But thank you, doctor.” Mabel said, “I think we’ll be fine.” _Thank you for everything you’ve done for my brother. He’s so much better than he was when he was admitted a few months ago._ She felt incapable of conveying the depths of her gratitude, so instead, she let herself into Dipper’s room.

Her brother was tucked neatly into his bed, sleeping the same way he’d done when they were kids. It was good to know that some things didn’t change. One arm was pinned under his pillow, and the other – the one that her bullet had taken a bite out of – was rested on his stomach, slowly rising and falling with his breath. Despite the number of hours he’d slept, there were still bags under his eyes; not as pronounced, but still there. She wondered if they’d be a permanent fixture on his face.

Dr. Hoppus was right in saying that this was nothing extremely serious. Her brother was only asleep. Mabel could tell just by looking at him. But she also knew that Dipper was perfectly capable of orchestrating said transformation into Sleeping Beauty.

Mabel cracked a smile as she imagined Pacifica’s reaction to that comparison. She’d probably deny it while heated cheeks betrayed her true answer.

“Geez, Dipper.” She muttered as she set out the candles in a semi-circle, “You’re such a problem child.”

Cracking open Journal 3, Mabel quietly read off a familiar incantation.

“ _Fidentus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus. Habeas corpus. Inceptus Nolanus overratus. Magister mentium. Magister mentium. Magister mentium._ ”

She decided to forgo the dramatic flair Dipper had used when they were kids. In her limited experience, it didn’t change the effect of the spell. Dipper didn’t even speak to cast spells nowadays, so she figured it didn’t matter.

A rush filled her ears as her own consciousness was sucked away. She let the magic run its course, closing her eyes as she ‘fell asleep’ and entered Dipper’s mind.

Moments later, the dreamscape resolved around her. Black and gray and white. Color centralized around his memories. Mabel had never been in Dipper’s mind before. It wasn’t a place she was eager to invade. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

Where Stan’s dreamscape had been consolidated in the Shack, Dipper’s was open and sprawling.

She wasn’t sure what kind of structure it was supposed to be, but it felt like a university library – filled with so many books that most would never be opened. She couldn’t see any kind of ceiling, but lights with cone-shaped shades were suspended from the murk at regular intervals.

She had been deposited somewhere near the middle. Reading and writing desks surrounded her on every side, stacks of paper piled high on every one. Some desks were organized while others looked like the documents had been recently disturbed.

Upon closer inspection, she noticed scenes play over some of the papers, letter’s danced across another, while others were stagnant. Color effused softly from the surface of the documents. So, instead of doors like Stan, Dipper’s thoughts were hidden in letters and ink. She smiled, how appropriate.

She glanced at her watch out of habit, but sighed when she noticed the second hand only shivered in place. She should have known better than to rely on time in a place like the dreamscape. Regardless, she felt like it was being wasted as she mused over her brother’s mind. It was time to find him.

There wouldn’t be a map either, so she set off in a direction that felt right. The desks gave way to bookshelves, tall and stuffed with books. The spines bore titles such as _Third Birthday, Mabel’s First Crush,_ and _The Bunker Episode_. With the practice of three years of detective work, she noticed the pattern. All the books were personal memories. Family. Friends. School. Vacations. Goofy things she’d done. It was nice to know that, despite Dipper’s scars, he never forgot his upbringing.

But all too soon, the bookshelves ended. Mabel stopped dead in her tracks as she saw what lay beyond.

Filing cabinets. As far as the eye could see.

It took her a few tries to get her feet moving again. As she went, she ran her hands over the cool, steel handles. The drawers were labeled in meticulously neat handwriting, but the system was numerical and unfamiliar. The only person who could guess what was catalogued in each file would be the author. Dipper.

She needed to find him. Not only to wake him, but because she needed answers.

What was this place supposed to be?

The filing cabinets weren’t nearly as tall as the shelves. They stood about the same height as Mabel’s head. Standing on her tippy-toes, she was able to peer over the vast space. She spotted a blue light glowing softly over to her right and set out to find the source.

This was certainly cracking up to be an interesting day.

It wasn’t difficult to find Dipper. He was sitting with his back against a filing cabinet, knees drawn up to his chest, looking no different than when he was twelve years old. Complete with his marshmallow vest and pine tree hat. He was swiping through screens hovering in front of him, almost like an ipad interface. That had been the source of the light.

Mabel watched for a moment. The screens displayed a series of events she remembered but had never seen before. She realized it was Dipper’s visualization of a scene from _The Case of the Caper-Case Caper_ , part of The Sibling Brother series, right before that huge plot twist she’d never seen coming.

“That took me by surprise.” She said simply as Dipper dismissed the screen, another taking its place.

“Yeah. Me too.”

She hid her shock at his willingness to talk, especially about something so trivial.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.” He didn’t look away from the screen.

“Am I talking to the right Dipper? Present day Dipper?” She fruitlessly checked her watch again, “Year 2025 Dipper?”

He chuckled, “Valid question.”

She rolled her eyes.

He continued, “I imagine it’s not your only one.”

“Just answer.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mabel put her back to the same filing cabinet and slid down to sit beside him. “Why do you look twelve then?”

He glanced over at her and smiled, “I’m not sure. It just happens. Imagine my surprise when I once showed up as a ninety year old man.”

“I’ll bet. What are you doing?”

“Just sorting through some old stuff.”

“Books?”

He nodded.

“Why now?”

“I felt like it.”

“You felt like sleeping for an eternity and going through crappy, old mystery novels?” She reached over and swiped through a few screens, “I’ve read all these. They’re not that good. If you wanted better ones, you only had to ask. I could bring you some.”

“I didn’t know you read mystery novels.” Dipper muttered, his brow crinkling.

“Duh, dork.” She flicked his head, “I’m a detective. I had to start somewhere.”

“Why do you get the cool job?” Dipper grouched, waving her hand away and crossing his arms – appropriately childish.

“Because.”

He closed down the screen completely and leaned his head back on the file cabinet.

“Did you come here just to bother me?” He asked.

“No, stupid. I came to see what you were sulking about. But now I have a million more questions.”

“Like?”

“Why does your dreamscape look so different from Grunkle Stan’s? Why do you suddenly feel so chatty? Why aren’t you and Pacifica Facebook official? That’s just a start. I may think of more.”

Dipper rolled his eyes, “Did that last one came up strictly because you visited the dreamscape?”

“No, it’s been on my mind for a while.”

Dipper pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his clothes even though Mabel couldn’t see any dust. She followed suit, curious.

“To answer your questions in order. Everyone’s dreamscape is different. Usually, there is a sort of default setting structured after a person’s personality and experiences. My default was – surprise – a library. But I had to rearrange a little to make accommodations for… extra stuff.”

“Can I look?” Mabel asked, hand on a drawer.

A shrug, “Sure. Right now, it should be fine.”

The low hum of rollers filled the archive as the drawer slid open. It was stuffed full of vanilla folders, labeled with a seamless continuum of digits. She pulled one out and thumbed through the documents, giving them a cursory glance. The information wasn’t cohesive. A spell. A physical theory. A long stream of historic events concerning the ancient Sumerian Empire.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

“Not to an outsider.” Dipper argued, “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“How so?”

“I may have lost track of time over the years. But everything I learned from Bill Cipher was added in chronological order of when I learned it. The file cabinets start near the bookshelves and spiral out from there. Unfortunately, the system can be inconvenient when I want to get to something and end up with more unrelated information than I wanted. For example,” he pulled the file from Mabel’s hands and flipped through it, “If I wanted to retrieve this spell from my memory,” he pointed to a single line of text, “I’d end up getting all of this too.” His finger trailed down an expanse of text below the spell that detailed the best way to flush grease out of kitchen pipes: chemicals, drain snakes, and plumbers.

“That sounds fun.” Her voice indicated just now _not_ fun that sounded.

“Yeah. It’s kina unbalancing.”

Mabel recalled how tittery and Bippery Dipper would get when did magic or helped Pacifica with an obscure social theory. It made a lot more sense now.

Dipper slid the file back into place as he continued to talk – more than Mabel had heard from him since they were thirteen, “As for why I’m so chatty, that goes along with file cabinets. You’ve heard of lucid dreaming, right?”

Mabel nodded, “It’s where people can consciously control their dreams.”

“Exactly.” Dipper explained, “I may not be a lucid dreamer, but when I’m in my dreamscape, the concept applies. I can control and localize my memories. But you know how when you’re awake, things leap – unbidden – to your mind and no matter how much you try, they won’t go away.”

“Uh yeah, I can’t get Shimmery Twinkleheat’s catchphrase out of my head. It’s been stuck in there since we were twelve!”

“’Because you believed’.” Dipper quoted in a falsetto voice, “I remember that.”

Mabel clapped her hands over her ears, “Ugh!”

“As I was saying,” Dipper continued, “When I’m awake, I have the same problem, only about ten times worse considering the amount of memories I’ve accrued. I can’t control it. Things get jumbled up, making it hard to think much less talk. It’s easier to keep the lid on when I don’t.” He heaved a sigh and gestured to the archive, “Somehow, I’ve managed to store more information than what should be humanly possible in my brain. And all it does is screw with me.”

“You know you can talk to _me_ though.” She said quietly.

Her brother shrugged, shot her a smile, and answered, “I know.”

“You can talk to Pacifica too. Although, you two seem to have fun signing to each other. I mean, you basically talk behind my back _right in front of me!_ ”

“Geez, Mabel!” Dipper moaned, turning away and trotting off toward the library, “Do you ever give it a rest?”

“Nope!” Mabel chirped, following after him, “I know you guys are in loooove!”

She didn’t miss how absent his denials were not how his ears tinged pink. It was extra goofy because he looked like he was twelve years old, not twenty-seven.

“To answer your last question. We’re not Facebook official because I don’t have an account.”

“I can remedy that. I’ll make you an account and manage your online couple shenanigans.”

Dipper rolled his eyes.

They arrived back at the desks where Dipper preoccupied himself with a messy stack of papers.

“What are these?” Mabel nodded toward the paper strewn desks.

“Short-term memories.” Dipper threw a few over his shoulder and they fluttered to the ground, “Some of this stuff doesn’t automatically archive because there’s already so much in my dreamscape. That’s when I have to step in and deal with it.”

Mabel plopped into a swivel chair, spinning childishly “Is that what you’re going to do for the rest of the day?”

“Maybe.” Dipper muttered without looking at her.

“Well I think that’s boring. Ppbbt!” She blew a raspberry.

“What would you rather do?”

“I’d rather bust out of this place – the institution I mean – and go bowling with Pacifica.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes, “You better not be setting me up.”

“No, stupid. _I_ want to go bowling too! Geez! Rude.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“If you’re gonna play hooky, so am I.” She stood and held out her hand to her brother, a playful smile on her lips, “Let’s convince Pacifica to play hooky too. It’ll be fun.”

Dipper only eyed her hand for a few seconds before he caved. His small hand grabbed hers. His grin grew to match hers. His memory miseries pushed aside just as she’d planned.

“Let’s do it.”

When he squeezed her hand, they both woke.

Not long after that, the three of them – Mabel, Dipper, and Pacifica – were piled into Mabel’s car on their way to the bowling alley. She knew she’d have a lot of work to deal with tomorrow, but she didn’t regret this moment of peace with her brother and her best friend. Even if she did need to pretend to pout when Dipper signed something to Pacifica, probably at her expense, and made the blonde woman laugh in that way she did only around her closest friends. Even if she did stick her tongue out at her brother and complain about being the third wheel because there was no other way for her to cover up how she was squealing on the inside. Even if this wasn’t the future she’d imagined, she didn’t want to change it for anything.


End file.
